FRANK  WEDEKIND 


Princess  Russalka 


By  frank  WEDEKIND 


Translated  by 
Frederick  Eisemann 


JOHN  W.   LUCE  &  COMPANY 
Boston 


To  K'mI*-^^. 


CONTENTS 

fAAlAJ 

Introduction 

On  Eroticism 

Princess  Russalka 

The  Grisly  Suitor 

I  Am  Bored 

The  Burning  of  Egliswyl 

Les  Halles 

The  Victim 

The  Inoculation 

Rabbi  Esra 

1 

f>2H?00 


FRANK  WEDEKIND 

''The  playwrights  whom  I  choose  to 
emphasize  as  most  expressive  of  the 
modern  German  theatre  —  the  theatre 
in  which  Sudermann  and  Hauptmann 
are  no  longer  paramount  figures  —  are 
such  men  as  Frank  Wedekind,  Ludwig 
Thoma,  Hugo  von  Hoffmansthal,  Arthur 
Schnitzler  and  Hermann  Bahr.  Very 
slowly  have  these  names  penetrated  to 
English  intelligences;  yet  it  is  in  their 
work  that  we  may  find  that  which  is 
today  drawing  the  attention  of  the  rest 
of  the  world   to  the  German   theatre.'' 

It  was  in  this  fashion  that  the  late 
Percival  Pollard  introduced  the  readers 
of  his  now  famous  book,  ''Masks  and 
Minstrels  of  New  Germany/'*  to  the 
author  of  the  stories  contained  in  this 
volume.  From  the  nature  of  the  book 
he  then  had  in  hand,  Mr.  Pollard's 
fine  critical  judgment  was  devoted   al- 

*"  Masks  and  Minstrels  of  New  Germany,"  by  Percival 
Pollard.    John  W.  Luce  &  Company,  Boston,  191  l.j 


ii  Introduction 

most  exclusively  to  Wedekind's  dra- 
matic productions.  His  references  to 
the  short  stories  and  poetry  being 
merely  incidental,  but  brief  as  they  are, 
quite  sufficient  to  rouse  the  curiosity 
of  those  who  are  interested  in  the 
extraordinary  personality  of  the  man, 
and  of  those  students  of  the  drama  who 
seek  for  the  sources  from  which  his 
plays    have    been    finally    evolved. 

At  least  two  features  of  importance 
will  strike  the  reader  of  this  volume. 
First,  that  even  in  his  early  work, 
Wedekind  was  not  only  impressed  with 
the  necessity  of  imparting  a  knowledge 
of  the  functions  of  sex  to  the  young, 
but  set  himself  seriously  to  the  task 
of  overcoming  the  popular  prejudice 
against  such  education,  by  the  only 
means  he  then  had  at  command,  the 
short  story.  Second,  Wedekind's  theory 
of  the  existence  of  a  spirit  of  the  flesh 
quite  distinct  from  the  soul,  a  theory 
imparting  to  the  body  a  dignity  which 
animists  have  reserved  exclusively  for 
the  intangible  in  man,  and  which  gives 


Frank  Wedekind  iii 

added  weight  and  importance  to  his 
plea  for  a  knowledge  of  the  functions 
of  that  idealized  body. 

At  a  later  period,  when  Wedekind 
was  accorded  a  hearing  on  the  stage 
and  had  won  for  himself  an  assured 
position  of  authority  as  an  author  and 
dramatist,  he  made  use  in  the  theatre 
of  much  of  the  material  contained  in 
this  volume  to  further  advance  and 
strike  home  his  ideas.  Sure  of  himself 
and  his  audience,  all  restraint  was 
thrown  to  the  winds  with  a  result  not 
altogether  happy. 

Mr.  Pollard's  portraiture  of  Wedekind 
and  analysis  of  his  drama  remains  the 
most  vivid  and  comprehensive  in  Eng- 
lish, or  for  that  matter  in  any  language, 
and  no  greater  service  can  be  done  the 
reader  of  this  volume  than  to  continue 
the  quotation  from  "Masks  and  Min- 
strels of  New  Germany"  which  forms 
the  opening  paragraph  of  this  introduc- 
tion: 

"For  several  reasons,  I  begin  with 
Frank    Wedekind.      He    has,    for    one 


iv  Introduction 

thing,  communicated  to  his  dramatic 
creations  the  variete  ideas,  the  music- 
hall  style,  so  to  say,  which  he  brought 
from  those  early  days,  when  he  ap- 
peared upon  this  or  that  intimate  or 
independent  stage  as  a  performer  of  his 
own  work.  Nextly,  it  is  he  who  has 
most  practically,  most  brutally,  put 
upon  the  stage  figures  and  ideas  that 
were  profane  or  barbaric  expressions 
of  the  lyric  unmoralities  in  Nietzsche. 
The  line  from  Nietzsche  to  Wedekind, 
from  the  music-hall  expression  of  ar- 
tistic personality  to  Wedekind,  is  direct 
and  not  to  be  mistaken. 

^^What  was  theoretically  sublime  in 
Nietzsche  became  the  actually  bizarre 
if  not  ridiculous  in  Wedekind. 

'^  Wedekind  chiefly  represents  complete 
divorce  from  all  the  old  man-made 
moralities.  He  and  his  characters  are 
not  so  much  above  those  moralities, 
as  outside  of  them.  He  treats  humanity 
diabolically;  there  is  never  any  trace 
of  divine  pity  in  him.%The -"music  halFs 
complete    freedom    from    society^s    or- 


Frank  Wedekind  v 

dinary  restraints;  its  sheerly  physiologic 
interpretation  of  life;  its  entire  forget- 
fulness  of  ethical  or  moral  reasonable- 
ness; are  all  typified  in  Wedekind's  art. 
All  life  is  for  him  a  music-hall  per- 
formance. The  effects  of  things  move 
him;  causes,  morals,  old  labels  like 
'good  and  evil,'  or  Hhe  wages  of  sin,' 
do  not  move  him  at  all.  He  is  the 
essential  modern  expression,  through 
art,  of  that  savage  doctrine  in  nature 
which  orders  that  the  stronger  reptile 
devour  t^he  weaker.  Doctrine,  however, 
is  the  wrong  word  to  apply  to  Wede- 
kind; he  is  as  above  doctrines  as  he  is 
outside  of  the  old  humanities.  He  has 
in  him  something  of  Machiavelli,  some- 
thing of  Casanova,  and  the  more  satanic 
egoisms  of  Nietzsche;  he  remains  a 
strange,  uncanny,  isolated,  abnormal 
figure,  and  is  yet,  in  his  very  remoteness 
from  all  normalities  and  all  moraUties, 
typical  of  modern  Germany's  throwing 
away  from  old,  too  long  accepted 
things. 


vi  Introduction 

"It  is  Wedekind's  ^Spring's  Awaken- 
ing' (Fruehlings  Erwachen)  which  first 
brought  him  into  notice  beyond  the 
German  borders.  That  tragedy  upon 
our  youth's  need  for  sexual  illumination 
was  brutal  and  melancholy  enough; 
and  will  never  be  without  its  value  for 
our  time;  yet  it  is  mild  compared  to 
some  of  the  other  plays  from  his  pen. 

"  An  abnormal,  an  eccentric,  Wedekind 
has  always  been.  He  was  an  eccentric 
performer,  in  the  music-hall  interpre- 
tations he  gave;  he  was  eccentric  as 
dramatist.  Little  that  was  abnormal  in 
pathology  of  sex,  or  nerves,  or  sanity, 
escaped  his  treatment  as  material  for 
plays.  He  was  eccentric,  outside  of  all 
the  elder  moral,  or  critical,  or  artistic 
scruples,  or  even  scruples  about  the 
pubUc  or  his  own  profit.  He  did  not 
merely  satirize  his  pubhc,  as  Shaw  did; 
he  insulted  it,  both  as  playwright  and 
as  performer.  Neither  censors  nor  jail- 
ors lessened  the  fury  with  which  he 
imposed  his  eccentric  ego  upon  his  time 
in  Germany.     Against  the  time  serving 


Frank  Wedekind  vii 

of  Sudermann  and  the  dreamy  com- 
plaining ot  Hauptmann,  Wedekind 
loomed  as  some  vast  irresistible  monster, 
some  Juggernaut  that  moved  ruthlessly 
on  over  the  blood  and  bones  of  the 
play  going  public.  He  cared  as  little 
for  style  or  form  in  his  plays  as  he 
cared  for  morals.  For  him,  as  for 
Meredith,  the  ^  chaos  illumined  by 
lightning^  of  Wilde  applies;  his  dra- 
matic work  is  more  chaotic  than  any 
other  in  our  time,  and  yet  has  flashes, 
moments,  of  genius,  that  irritate  by 
their  very  impertinence.  He  treats 
humanity  as  an  aggregation  of  atoms; 
it  amuses  him  to  galvanize  those  atoms 
into  this  or  that  attitude.  He  has  no 
cowardices  of  texts  and  teachings,  no 
hymns  to  sing  to  humanity.  We  are 
marionettes  for  his  amusement;  that 
is  all. 

^^  Wedekind' s  life  has  been  as  extraor- 
dinary as  his  work.  Indeed,  if  we 
would  fully  understand  the  one,  we 
must  examine  the  other.  They  must 
be   taken   together,    as   in   the   case   of 


viii  Introduction 

Verlaine,  or  of  Wilde.  Only,  as  against 
the  apparent  contradictions  in  those 
other  cases,  Wedekind's  life  and  his 
work  have  always  had  eccentricities 
and  abnormalities  in  common. 

"  He  was  born,  1864,  in  Hanover.     His 
father    had    been    a    physician    in    the 
Orient,   one  of  the  rebels  of   '48,   gone 
to  America,  and  been  a  pioneer  in  San 
Francisco,    where    he    married.      Frank 
Wedekind's  mother  was  of  a  Wurttem- 
berg  family;  she  had  reached  San  Fran- 
cisco  in   the   adventuring   vagabondage 
of   the   stage    artist.      Wedekind   senior 
made  money  in  land,   and  returned  to 
Hanover,  where  Frank  was  born.     The 
family     moved     to     Lenzburg,     where 
Frank's  first  youth  had  its  untrammeled 
way.     The  passion  for  writing  was  his 
from  the  first,  but  his  father  made  him 
study  law  in  Munich.     There,  however, 
he    consorted    only    with    artists    and 
players.     His  studies  shifted  to  Zurich, 
where  with   others  of   his   own   age   he 
started     the     so-called     Ulrich-Hutten 
circle,  furthering  the  cause  of  modernity 


Frank  Wedekind  ix 

in  literature.  To  this  circle  belonged 
such  as  Karl  Henckell,  John  Henry 
Mackay,  Otto  Erich  Hartleben  and  the 
two  brothers  Hauptmann.  Wedekind 
here  came  first  into  touch  with  Strind- 
berg.  In  1888,  his  father  dead,  Wede- 
kind returned  to  Munich  with  his 
patrimony.  Artistic  ferment  tossed  him 
hither  and  thither;  he  went  to  Paris 
and  to  London,  flinging  away  his 
patrimony  and  much  of  his  physical 
and  spiritual  health.  He  learned,  then, 
as  Maximilian  Harden  has  pointed  out, 
all  the  centres  of  European  culture,  all 
the  sinks  of  its  perversity  and  its 
crookedness.  He  squandered  his  money 
and  his  beliefs  alike  recklessly.  In  1891 
he  returned  again  to  Munich,  in  funds, 
the  old  family  home  in  Lenzburg  hav- 
ing been  sold. 

^^The  first  editor  to  recognize  Wede- 
kind was  Albert  Langen,  of  Sim- 
plicissimus,  who  took  him  onto  the  staff 
of  that  weekly.  Karl  Heine,  of  the 
Leipzig  Literary  Society,  also  took  up 
Wedekind,    and   put   on   such   plays   of 


X  Introduction 

his    as    'Earth   Spirit'    (Der    Erdgeist), 
1895,      'The     Tenor'     (Der     Kammer- 
saenger),   1899,  and  'The  Love  Potion' 
(Der  Liebestrank),  1899,  in  which  Wede- 
kind    himself    played    important    parts. 
These  were  his  first  successes,  both  as 
writer  and  public  performer.    An  action 
for    lese-majeste    was    brought    against 
him  about  this  time;  he  fled  to  Paris; 
but    eventually    gave    himself    up,    and 
served    a    sentence    in    the    fortress    of 
Koenigstein.     This  episode  brought  him 
more    notoriety    than    all    he    had    ac- 
complished   in     art.    Then     came     the 
'Uberbrettr  period,  in  which  Wedekind 
was  active  as  singer  and  performer,  as 
has    already    been    told    on    an    earlier 
page.     The  variety  theatres  of  Berlin, 
of    Munich,     and    many    other    towns 
knew  him.    In  1904  he  joined  the  forces 
of     Max     Reinhardt     at     the     German 
Theatre  (Deutsches  Theater)  in  Berlin, 
acting    in    such    pieces    of    his    own    as 
'Spring's    Awakening'    (Fruehhngs    Er- 
wachen),      written     in      1891,      'Earth 
Spirit,'  and  'Hidalla,'  1904. 


Frank  Wedekind  xi 

''In  1906,  Wedekind  married  Tillie 
Niemann,  an  actress,  and  in  1908  left 
Berlin  to  settle  again  in  Munich.  The 
name  Wedekind  is  rich  in  talents 
besides  that  of  Frank.  His  sister  Erika 
is  well  known  as  a  brilliant  singer;  a 
brother  Donald  aped  Wedekind' s  career, 
at  least  in  literature,  but  lacked  Frank's 
robust  physical  and  mental  equipment. 
Donald  wandered  in  America,  retired 
to  a  monastery,  wrote  a  weird  novel, 
drifted  from  editorial  desk  to  music-hall 
platform,  and  finally  shot  himseK  in 
Vienna  in  1908. 

''  Only  in  some  of  his  first  verses  will 
you  find  trace  of  an  idealistic  youth- 
fulness  having  once  dwelt  in  Wedekind. 
He  began,  as  Conradi,  as  Nietzsche, 
with  some  yearning  for  the  illimitable 
beauties  that  spring  seems  to  conjure 
in  the  human  soul;  the  actualities  of 
life  appear  to  have  buffeted  all  those 
fine  fancies  out  of  him  at  the  first 
touch,  and  forever.  In  his  later  work 
there  is  not  one  single  link  that  binds 


xii  Introduction 

him  to  his  human  kind.  Joy  of  hfe 
died  in  him  so  young  that  he  has 
forgotten  that  it  still  exists  in  others. 

"  What  has  always  been  to  the  fore 
in  his  preoccupation  with  the  sexual 
relation  between  the  sexes  is  the  brutal, 
the  diabolic,  in  them.  His  bitter,  cynical 
irony  has  played  about  every  normal 
and  abnormal  gesture  of  human  passion 
that  experience  or  imagination  can 
conceive.  He  is  the  great  Denier  of  our 
time.  He  denies  morals,  denies  cus- 
tom, denies  the  laws  and  scruples  of 
society  and  art.  Whether  the  barriers 
of  nicety  and  decency  —  to  use  words 
intelligible  to  the  polite!  —  which  Wede- 
kind  has  kicked  down  can  ever  again 
be  put  up  as  permanently  as  before  in 
art,  is  a  fine  question.  He  denies  the 
ideal,  denies  even  what  is. 

^^It  is  in  the  volume  'Countess  Rus- 
salka'  (Furstin  Russalka),  1897,  that 
one  should  look  for  the  first  signs  of 
Wedekind's  artistic  temper.  This  volume 
held  stories,  poems,  and  pantomines.  It 
gave  some  of  his  earliest,  and  also  some 
of  his  most  characteristic  work. 


Frank  Wedekind  xiii 


(C  t 


Spring's  Awakening'  will   probably 
live   longer   than   any   other   Wedekind 
play.      Brutal    as   it   is,    it   still    has    a 
vestige  of  idealism,  of  which  the  later 
Wedekind  retains  no  trace.     It  was  a 
children's   tragedy   of   the   most   awful, 
this    play,    and    no    greater    indictment 
of   the   folly   of   letting   hypocrisy   and 
shamefulness   keep   the   young   of   both 
sexes  blind  to  what  sex  means  has  ever 
been    written.      In    quite    recent    times 
this  matter  of  the  awakening  of  sex,  of 
the  wide-spread  and  disastrous  prudery 
about    diseases    of    sex,    has    gradually 
been  creeping  into  publicity  in  Anglo- 
Saxon    countries.      Here    and    there    a 
medical  man  courageous  enough  to  tell 
the   truth    has   brought    an    indictment 
against    the    way    adults    conspire    to 
pretend  diseases  of  sex  as  non-existent, 
and     against     the     way     children     are 
brought    up     in     ignorance     of    sexual 
functions.     Wedekind   was   the   first   to 
bring  that  indictment  through  dramatic 
art. 


xiv  Introduction 

^' One  of  the  stories  in  'Furstin  Rus- 
salka'  had  already  outUned  the  subject 
of  'Spring's  Awakening.'  That  interim 
period  of  pubescence,  when  youth  is  torn 
between  its  dread  of  the  unknown  and 
its  desires,  was  the  theme  which  first 
moved  Wedekind  in  his  story  of  'Rabbi 
Esra'  in  the  'Russalka'  collection,  and 
later  in  the  play.  Nothing  could  be 
more  awful,  more  tragic,  than  the  man- 
ner in  which  his  play  exposes  the 
injustice  which  parents  do  their  children 
by  letting  them  stay  in  ignorance  con- 
cerning all  the  body's  natural  functions. 
Almost  every  hypocrisy  common  in 
every  modern  country's  attitude  toward 
children  is  flayed  bitterly  by  Wedekind. 
One  character  in  an  early  story  declares 
that  she  would  never  have  supposed 
'that  one  could  bear  children  without 
having  been  married';  Countess  Rus- 
salka  herself  was  of  the  steadfast  belief 
that  God  had  given  her  parents  children 
because  they  had  been  married  in 
church,  and  not  because  early  in  their 
married  life  they  lived  together.     Frau 


Frank  Wedekind  xv 

Bergmann  in  the  last  act  of  'Spring's 
Awakening^  explains  to  the  fifteen-year- 
old  Wendla  that  the  latter  has  a  child, 
only  to  have  the  latter  exclaim:  'But 
mother,  that  isn't  possible.  Why,  — 
I'm  not  married!'  Whereon  comes  her 
curt  reproach:  'Oh,  mother,  why  didn't 
you  tell  me  everything?'  and  Frau 
Bergmann' s  reply:  'I  dealt  with  you 
exactly  as  my  dear  mother  dealt  with 
me.'  In  that  latter  frightful  confession, 
you  have  the  whole  bitter  irony  of 
Wedekind's  indictment.  It  is  the  curse 
of  Yesterday  that  has  put  its  pall  of 
ignorance  upon  so  many  of  these  danger 
spots  in  Today's  consciousness;  in  the 
contrast  between  that  reply  of  Frau 
Bergmann's  and  the  frightful  tragedy 
overwhelming  the  children  in  this  play 
lies  the  whole  difference  between  the 
old  hypocrisies  and  the  enhghtenment 
for  which  all  our  modern  world  is  still 
too  slowly  striving.  All  the  mongrel 
results  of  half  culture,  all  the  false 
shame  and  hypocrisy  preventing  parent 
and  child  from  dealing  straightforwardly 


xvi  Introduction 

with  the  tr^th  in  things  physical,  are 
castigated  in  this  play. 

^^If  in  'Spring's  Awakening'  our 
modern  world  first  came  to  realize 
Wedekind's  concentration  upon  sex,  that 
concentration  was  to  be  expressed  even 
more  forcibly  afterwards.  There  was, 
in  the  children's  tragedy  referred  to, 
still  much  of  the  unquenched  idealist 
in  Wedekind;  indeed,  it  was  what 
gleamed  through  the  lines  suggesting 
the  bitter  way  in  which  the  great  world 
of  experience  had  brutally  upset  the 
ideal  in  Wedekind's  own  youth  that 
gave  this  play  much  of  its  power.  The 
play  was  applicable  wherever  old  hy- 
pocrisies between  parent  and  child  still 
linger;  but  the  most  tremendously  in- 
ternational creation  of  Wedekind  was 
to  come  later,  in  the  character  of 
Lulu,  the  heroine  of  'Earth  Spirit' 
and  its   sequel,    'The  Box  of  Pandora.' 

^^  Lulu  was  a  daughter  of  the  people, 
who  rose  thence  from  one  story  of 
society  to  another  without  ever  com- 
pletely  feeling   at   home   on   any   Hage. 


Frank  Wedekind  xvii 

Literally    she    was    of    the    people;    she 
knew   neither   parent;    she   was   of   the 
earth,     the     ^ Earth    Spirit'     truly;    its 
soil  clung  to  her  always.    First  a  flower 
girl;  then  adventuress,   then   a  lady  in 
society,   she  goes  always  forward  upon 
her  single  business,   that  of  giving  her 
sexuality    one    triumph    after    another 
over    the    opposing    sex.      She    deceives 
this   man,    ruins   another,    murders   an- 
other.     She    is    the    eternal    temptress; 
she    embodies    the    everlasting    struggle 
between  the   sexes;    she  is  untameable, 
merciless,  and  seems  immortal.     In  the 
sequel  to  ^ Earth  Spirit,'  Lulu  has  def- 
initely   become    a    professional    general 
in    the    bitter    war    against    the    male. 
In  ^The  Box  of  Pandora'   we  find  her 
released  from  the  prison  to  which  the 
murder  in  the  other  play  had  brought 
her;   though  free  from  that   constraint, 
she   is   now   more   and   more   the   slave 
of  her  own  passions  and  sinks  from  one 
phase     of     courtesanship     to     another. 
There  is  no  abomination  of  vice  or  ex- 
tortion  to   which    she   does    not    come. 


xviii  Introduction 

both  actively  and  passively;  she  ex- 
hausts every  iniquitous  corner  of  every 
capital  of  the  world's  vice;  mires  lower 
and  lower,  in  Paris,  and  then  London; 
to  end,  at  last,  as  streetwalker  in  a 
London  garret,  murdered  by  a  Jack 
the  Ripper  in  one  of  the  most  appalling 
scenes  ever  written  in  our  time  in  any 
tongue. 

"  No  artist  in  our  time,  or  perhaps  in 
any  time,  has  gone  farther  to  the  ex- 
treme, in  revolt  from  his  embittered 
youth,  than  Wedekind.  If  at  first  his 
bitterness  was  a  mask  to  conceal  the 
hurt  of  his  young  manhood,  it  became 
eventually  the  man  himself,  an  insepa- 
rable part  of  his  ego.  That  he  has  been 
able  to  make  that  ego  stream  so 
strongly  upon  the  outer  world  of  inter- 
national art,  proves  him  a  dramatic 
force  of  truly  continental  calibre.  There 
are  those,  of  course,  who  find  Wedekind 
simply  the  last  human  word  in  that 
degeneration  once  put  into  circulation 
as  a  phrase  for  the  general  abuse;  those 
who   murmur   of   Krafft-Ebing,    and   of 


Frank  Wedekind  xix 

Nietzsche  dying  in  a  madhouse.  They 
declare  the  profitlessness  of  putting  into 
plays  characters  and  actions  which, 
after  all,  are  not  typical  but  abnormal. 
They  do  not  deny  that  such  people, 
such  incidents,  such  life,  as  are  in 
Wedekind's  plays,  exist;  but  they  ques- 
tion the  value  of  putting  them  into 
play  or  print.  Against  which  it  is  to 
be  remarked  that  even  if  they  only 
recorded  the  utterest  abnormalities, 
from  the  most  inhuman  standpoint, 
these  plays  of  Wedekind  will  have  to 
be  reckoned  with  by  the  future  student 
of  today's  civilization.  In  that  larger 
reckoning  our  abnormalities  as  well  as 
our  normalities  must  figure. 

'^Students  of  psychology,  moreover, 
may  easily  enough  illumine  the  case  of 
Wedekind  to  suit  their  theories.  To 
Wedekind,  as  we  have  seen,  humanity 
has  never  been  other  than  atoms  under 
a  microscope.  To  hold  humanity  under 
the  microscope  is  exactly  the  method 
of  the  conscious  psychologist;  he  notes 
actions,   causes   and   effects;   he   appHes 


XX  Introduction 

his  observations,  deduces  from  them; 
the  human  machine  becomes  obvious 
and  simple  to  him.  Wedekind  may, 
then,  by  some  be  held  consciously  or 
unconsciously  to  enact  the  psychologist 
in  his  drama;  not  only  to  let  the  atoms 
move  under  his  microscope,  but  to  let 
us,  the  playgoers,  watch  the  very 
process  of  psychologic  exposition.  All 
this,  as  I  said,  if  you  are  able,  in  what 
seems  to  others  only  chaotic,  to  find 
psychology. 

"Whatever  were  the  first  influences 
upon  Wedekind,  as  Nietzsche,  Strind- 
berg,  and  the  French  writers,  essentially 
it  was  his  own  life  that  fashioned  him 
to  eventual  individualism  as  artist. 
If  in  matter  he  occasionally  tried  paths 
that  had  been  trodden  in  Scandinavia 
or  France,  in  manner  he  was  never 
anything  but  grotesquely  himself;  he 
scorned  any  pattern  whatsoever;  his 
work  was  nothing  but  the  eruption,  the 
ebullition  of  his  ego  and  its  ideas. 
Even  in  matter  he  surpassed  in  un- 
scrupulousness    and    disregard    for     old 


Frank  Wedekind  xxi 

shames,  old  restraints,  anything  that 
others  had  done.  By  comparison, 
Strindberg's  ^Fraulein  Julie  ^  seems  al- 
most dainty,  and  the  pseudomedical 
revelations  in  the  novels  of  D'Annunzio 
seem  packed  in  saccharine  rhetoric. 

^^Wedekind's  intense  joy  in  the  body 
is  as  pagan  as  that  of  the  Greeks,  but 
expressed  far  more  in  terms  of  literal 
physics.  For  him  there  is  no  veiling 
the  essential  thing  itself  by  phrases 
about  a  ^ human  form  divine,'  ^an- 
tique boy-worship  of  the  Greeks,'  or 
even  the  allusiveness  of  a  Gautier 
declaring  that  'sl  woman  who  has  wit 
enough  to  be  beautiful  has  wit  enough.' 
In  him  no  tenor  murmurs  about  ^fair 
boys'  who  are  lovely  as  Antinous.' 
He  goes  straight  to  the  rude  core  of 
man's  delight  in  woman's  body.  If  he 
himself  declared  once  that  4ife  is  a 
toboggan-slide,'  we  must,  as  we  ex- 
amine his  paramount  obsession,  declare 
that  in  him  the  cult  of  the  human  body 
is  chiefly  expressed  in  intense  devotion 
to  woman's  every  gesture,  every  motion 


xxii  Introduction 

^^ 

of    her    gait.      Prince    Escerny    said    of 

Lulu:  ^When  she  dances  her  solo,  she 
becomes  drunk  with  her  own  beauty, 
with  which  she  is  in  love  up  to  the 
ears!'  To  Wedekind,  as  to  Heine,  the 
real  Song  of  Songs  in  this  our  day  is 
the  song  in  a  woman's  form. 

"  Through  the  most  grotesque  situa- 
tions that  occur  between  the  extraor- 
dinary people  in  his  plays  —  noblemen, 
trapeze  performers,  adventurers,  co- 
cottes,  and  school  children  —  the  idea 
that  only  in  a  perfect  body  can  the 
perfect  spirit  dwell,  rings  out.  The  girl 
Hidalla,  after  all  the  years  she  has 
spent  in  seclusion  with  many  other  girls 
in  that  strange  educational  institution 
pictured  in  ^Mine-Haha,'  recalls  of 
her  fellows  nothing,  nothing  save  their 
—  gait.  Not  Felicien  Rops  himself  has 
expressed  the  sheer  animality  of  the 
female  form  as  has  Wedekind;  the 
Belgian  could  not  get  the  flowing 
vividness  of  motion  into  his  strokes 
that  the  German  has  put  into  his  prose. 
The  case  of  Hidalla  is  nothing  but  a 


Frank  Wedekind  xxiii 

girFs  education  in  worship  of  her  own 
body.  The  gradual  dawning  in  her  of 
appreciation  for  the  suavity  of  her 
Umbs,  of  Hhat  joy  which  came  to  her 
as  the  consciousness  of  her  own  body 
came  to  her,  and  which  found  vent 
again  in  every  sUghtest  gesture/  is 
typical  of  this  trait  in  Wedekind's  art. 
Even  in  early  verses  in  the  'Countess 
Russalka'  collection  was  the  line  ad- 
dressed to  a  girl:  'Your  irresistibility 
is  in  your  legs  .  .  .'  and  in  the 
'Galathea'  ballad  (German  Chansons) 
he  declared  that  he  'Yearned  to  kiss 
your  knees,  Spelling  as  they  do  tempta- 
tion. .  .  .^  Of  gait  and  rhythm  in  the 
body  we  find  this  in  'Mine-Haha^ 
'A  person^s  walk  is  not  an  accidental 
thing.  It  depends  directly  on  the  way 
the  body  is  built.  .  .  .  Human  gait  has 
its  rhythm  that  is  not  to  be  expressed 
in  words,  that  can  only  be  felt.  From 
this  rhythm  you  may  easily  reconstruct 
the  entire  body.' 

'^  This  instinct  for  bodily  rhythm  Wede- 
kind   put    among    the    vital    attributes 


xviv  Introduction 

of  his  elemental  female,  Lulu,  The 
rhythm  of  her  own  body  moves  Lulu 
to  a  very  passion,  a  need,  for  dancing; 
if  for  one  evening  she  fails  to  give  her 
dance,  she  admits:  'I  dream  all  night 
that  I  am  dancing,  and  next  day  every 
bone  in  me  aches/  Her  body  excites 
not  only  in  others  but  in  herself,  Hhe 
maddest  excitement.'  One,  a  poet, 
praises  her  body  thus:  'Through  this 
gown  your  stature  is  as  a  symphony  to 
me.  These  fine  ankles  are  as  a  Canta- 
bile;  this  ravishing  curve,  and  this 
knee,  are  as  a  Capriccio;  and  this  the 
mighty  Andante  of  voluptuousness.' 

'^As  we  remember  the  emphasis  on 
these  qualities  in  body  and  gait  that 
runs  through  all  Wedekind  writes,  those 
early  'Pantomime  Dances'  in  the 
'Furstin  Russalka'  volume  come  more 
and  more  to  express  Wedekind's  real 
attitude  toward  life.  That  attitude 
is  one  of  inhuman  disdain.  Before 
his  cynically  distorting  mirror  he  lets 
all  life  pass;  all  are  equal  before  that 
ironic    reflector.      His    relentless    deter- 


Frank  Wedekind  xxv 

mination  to  fling  his  figures  about  into 
frightful  and  abnormal  postures,  de- 
tracts from  our  ability  to  feel  anything 
of  his  as  a  complete  work  of  art. 
Wedekind  is  as  chaotic  as  Nature 
herself;  there  is  no  notion  absurder  than 
that  Nature  is  logical  or  artistic  in  the 
petty  sense.  The  sheerly  profane  ex- 
pression of  Nietzsche's  most  inhuman 
egoism  is  Wedekind.  Humanity  has 
moved  his  pity  as  much  as  it  has 
moved  Vesuvius,  when  that  volcano 
was  in  eruption. 

^'  To  further  his  conception  of  all  life 
as  an  expression  of  the  body,  either  for 
brutality  or  beauty,  he  has  sacrificed 
not  alone  casual  characters  and  types 
in  ordinary  human  society,  but  most 
of  the  actual  men  and  women  whom  he 
has  known  in  the  flesh.  There  is  hardly 
a  play  of  his  that  has  not  some  gross, 
hideous  version  of  a  real  and  well- 
known  personage.  What  makes  all 
this  the  more  frightful  is  that  some 
truth  is  in  even  the  most  brutal  of 
Wedekind's  apparent  distortions.     Have 


xxvi  Introduction 

we  not  heard,  for  many  years,  the 
sententious:  ^In  the  most  civilized,  the 
most  sophisticated  of  us,  dwells  still 
the  primal  brute,  the  savage.  But  no 
man  dares  proclaim  the  real  thoughts 
and  words  of  that  brute  part  of  us.' 
That  is  just  what  Wedekind  has  dared 
to  do:  he  has  laid  bare  all  the  brute 
in  normal,  as  well  as  in  abnormal  man- 
kind. If  he  has  gone  to  the  other 
extreme  —  has  refused  to  see  that  in 
us  human  creatures  there  is  also  some- 
thing beside  the  brute  —  he  has  none 
the  less  perfectly  fulfilled  the  old  artistic 
law  that  you  must  always,  to  bring 
your  point  home,  teU  not  only  the 
truth  but  more  than  the  truth:  you 
must  exaggerate.  Wedekind  has  exag- 
gerated the  brutal  qualities  in  us,  until 
he  has  made  us  shudder.  He  is  eccen- 
tric and  perverse;  the  tragic  comedian 
of  the  abnormal;  whether  he  is  genius 
of  psychology  or  only  genius  of  chaos, 
he  has  gashed  the  irremediable  savagery 
of  our  time,  surviving  through  centuries 
of  so-called  civilization,  so  deeply  upon 


Frank  Wedekmd  xxvii 

the  theatre  and  upon  literature  that 
he  may  survive  when  time  serving 
photographers,  or  complaining  idealists, 
are  forgotten/^ 


EXCERPTS  FROM  WEDEKIND'S 
PREFACE  ON  EROTICISM 


EXCERPTS  FROM  WEDEKIND'S  ' 
PREFACE  ON  EROTICISM 

Most  people  divide  their  fellow  men  into 
two  large  classes:  Their  friends  and  their 
foes;  those  who  speak  their  tongue,  and  those 
who  speak  different  languages;  those  who  try 
to  help  them  in  their  development,  and 
those  who   try  to  hinder  this  development. 

And  I  should  like  to  divide  my  fellow 
men  into  two  large  classes.  The  one 
class  has,  since  creation,  championed  the 
adage:  FLESH  REMAINS  FLESH  — AS 
OPPOSED   TO  SPIRIT. 

Naturally,  here  the  spirit  is  the  higher  ele- 
ment, the  sovereign  absolute,  which  severely 
punishes  every  revolutionary  utterance  of 
the  flesh. 

But  the  flesh  has  never  submitted  itself 
to  this  contempt  and  degradation  for  any 
length  of  time,  and  has  over  and  over 
again  played  the  maddest  pranks  on  the 
champions  of  the  adage:  FLESH  RE- 
MAINS FLESH— AS  OPPOSED  TO  SPIRIT. 

As  a  result  of  these  everlasting  pranks  a 


xxxii  On  Eroticism 

new  party  has  appeared  which,  after  many 
ripe  experiences,  has  promulgated  the  adage: 
THE     FLESH    HAS    ITS    OWN    SPIRIT. 

And  it  is  with  the  champions  of  this 
new  theory  in  mind  that  the  stories  con- 
tained in  this  volume  have  been  written. 
All  of  their  problems  center  around  the 
spirit  of  the  flesh,  which  we  usually  term 
eroticism.  And  here  allow  me  to  state 
that  it  is  not  only  in  Germany  that  this 
eroticism  has  been  looked  upon  with  fearful 
dread;  and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  I  am 
taking  it  upon  myself  to  say  a  few  impar- 
tial words  on  this  subject. 

As  a  result  of  all  sorts  of  accidents  the 
problem  of  sex  education  has  been  coming 
into  the  foreground  for  many  years  past. 

The  duty  of  the  home  is  to  inform 
maturing  children  that  there  are  no  in- 
decent happenings  in  nature,  but  that 
there  are  only  good  and  evil,  sensible 
and  unsensible  occurrences.  Furthermore, 
that  there  are  indecent  people  who  do  not 
know  how  to  talk  about  or  behave  decently 
in  connection  with  nature^ s  functions. 

Why  is  this?    It  is  because  such  people 


On  Eroticism  xxxiii 

lack  culture  and  spiritual  freedom. 

The  youth  of  today  does  not  grow  up 
in  natural  blindness  and  stupidity ^  and 
it  is  mad  folly  to  try  to  blind  them  in 
regard  to  sex  questions. 

And  still  this  folly  has  saturated  our 
homes  and  schools  for  the  last  century. 
And  why?  For  fear  that  a  serious  con- 
sideration of  eroticism  would  do  harm 
rather  than  good. 

This  fear  is  the  result  of  self-deception. 
Parents  have  not,  as  they  thought,  placed 
a  ban  on  such  subjects  for  fear  of  harming 
their  offspring,  but  because  they  have  never 
been  able  to  talk  among  themselves  on 
eroticism  for  the  very  reason  that  they  them- 
selves had  never  been  taught  to  consider  it 
seriously. 

And  why?  Why  has  this  subject  al- 
ways been  banned  as  indecent? 

Because  very  often,  and  without  any 
reason,  these  discussions  have  led  to  the 
most  serious  kind  of  quarrels.  And  the 
reason  for  these  quarrels  is  that  such  dis- 
cussions lead  into  sensitive  channels  in 
which   husband   or   wife,    especially  when 


xxxiv  On  Eroticism 

they  live  together,  become  hurt  at  the 
slightest  provocation;  sensitive  channels  in 
which  women  do  not  care  to  justify  them- 
selves to  any  one,  and  least  of  all  to  their 
husbands.  To  cite  an  example  of  such 
a  sensitive  channel  let  me  mention:  the 
bodily  charm  of  woman,  or  the  bodily 
health  of  man. 

We  know  the  mechanism  of  a  motor, 
and  of  an  airship,  but  we  know  nothing 
of  the  mechanism  of  the  marriage. 
Thousands  of  cultured  people  believe  that 
they  will  be  inseparably  united  once  the 
marriage  ceremony  is  over.  No  account 
is  taken  of  the  real  reason  for  the  bond 
between  man  and  wife.  Is  it  any  wonder 
then  that  this  error  leads  so  often  to  divorce? 

In  our  present-day  society  we  speak 
more  guardedly  about  politics  than  we  do 
about  religion.  During  the  Reformation 
the  case,  of  course,  was  the  opposite.  And 
it  is  in  just  such  a  manner  that  we  are 
more  guarded  today  in  speaking  about  sex 
questions  than  we  are  about  politics.  Once, 
however,  a  general  understanding  of  this 
subjectjhas  been  arrived  at  there  will  prob- 
ably be  a  great  change. 


PRINCESS  RUSSALKA 


PRINCESS    RUSSALKA. 

^^You  are  wondering  how  I  happened 
to  become  a  ^Social  Democrat'  and 
marry  a  SociaUst  leader?' '  asked  Prin- 
cess Russalka  of  her  friend,  the  re- 
cently married  Baroness  Hohenwart. 
^^The  reason  was/'  she  continued,  ^'that 
my  marriage  with  the  Duke  of  Galliera 
left  me  childless." 

^'But  is  that  a  reason?"  asked  the 
baroness,  blushing. 

'' Perhaps  my  whole  youth  is  to 
blame,"  said  the  princess.  ^^It's  a 
rather  hard  story  to  tell.  As  a  child 
I  was  greatly  taken  up  with  my  own 
importance.  I  knew  nothing  higher  in 
the  world  than  myself.  I  looked  at 
myself  in  the  mirror  as  at  something 
holy.  Yet  with  all  I  was  merry  and 
bold,  though  I  always  failed  to  see  any 
humor  in  certain  things.  My  inner 
pride  revolted  itself  then.  And  this 
pride  later  on  proved  to  be  my  fate. 
When  my  sister  AmeUa  began  talking 


2  Princess  Russalka 

to  me  one  evening  about  the  way  in 
which  people  came  into  the  world,  I 
could  have  almost  strangled  her.  I 
was  very  religious,  and  often  conversed 
in  persona  with  God  for  hours  at  a 
time.  I  had  the  firm  behef  that  God 
had  created  me.  I  told  myself  that 
what  man  made  had  no  spirit.  Amelia 
and  I  grew  up  in  the  castle  of 
Schwarzeneck  in  Bohemia,  cut  off  from 
the  rest  of  the  world.  The  only  com- 
panions we  had  were  a  dried-up,  old 
major  domo,  and  a  very  cold-blooded 
governess.  I  do  not  know  where  Amelia 
got  her  knowledge.  She  was,  it  is  true, 
two  years  older  than  I,  and  was  phleg- 
matic and  lazy.  One  evening  she  told 
me  that  the  miller^s  daughter  in  the 
village  had  a  child.  I  was  furious,  and 
told  her  that  what  she  was  saying  was 
impossible.  Our  parents  had  been  mar- 
ried in  a  church  and  that  was  why 
God  had  given  them  children,  not  be- 
cause they  had  lived  together  during 
the  first  few  years  of  their  married  life. 
It    seemed    to    me    as    if   Amelia    were 


Princess  Russalka  3 

trying  to  deprive  me  of  my  right  of 
living.  In  the  middle  of  the  night  I 
prayed  to  God  that  He  might  show  me 
that  I  was  right,  and  not  Amelia;  and 
I  distinctly  heard  a  voice  say,  ^^  You  are 
right,  Russalka,  you  are  quite  right." 
And  when  my  sister,  a  few  days  later, 
again  began  talking  about  such  things, 
I  swore  by  God  and  all  that  there 
were  no  illegitimate  children  in  the 
world.  Amelia  laughed,  but  I  was 
so  serious  in  my  convictions,  I  felt 
such  a  proselytism  in  myself,  that  day 
and  night  I  yearned  for  the  opportunity 
to  prove  my  convictions. 

^'At  Christmas  time  my  father  always 
brought  a  great  many  friends  from 
Vienna  for  hunting.  And  every  winter 
he  brought  the  duke  of  Galliera  with 
him.  I  was  then  sixteen  years  old. 
On  the  very  first  day  I  took  him  as  my 
cavalier.  He  was  twenty-eight,  very 
clever  and  attentive,  and  he  eased  my 
mad  resolution  in  every  conceivable 
manner.  Amelia  and  a  young  lieuten- 
ant   from    Budapest    always    kept    near 


4  Princess  Russalka 

us.  In  three  days  the  catastrophe  had 
happened.  I  told  her  about  it  that  very 
evening.  She  turned  pale  as  death  and 
fainted.  Then  she  wept  and  sobbed 
the  whole  night  through,  beat  her  breast 
and  tore  her  hair,  so  that  I  had  to  use 
every  atom  of  love  and  power  I  had 
to  console  her.  Of  course  it  did  not  do 
much  good,  but  I  still  was  so  con- 
fident of  myself  that  she,  as  if  impelled 
by  some  higher  force,  knelt  down  before 
me  and  clutched  my  knees. 

^'After  New  Year's  all  the  guests  left. 
Since  I  had  shown  Amelia  my  absolute 
confidence  in  the  whole  affair  I  hardly 
looked  at  the  duke  any  more.  He 
accepted  my  disregard  in  a  very  graceful 
manner. 

^'Then  came  the  spring,  and  at  times 
I  became  frightened.  I  prayed  to  God 
that  He  might  not  let  my  belief  in 
Him  vaccilate.  But  I  did  not  have 
the  least  reason  for  it.  And  finally, 
one  September  evening,  I  said  to  my 
sister,  "You  see,  I  was  right.  And 
from  now  on  please  do  not  give  me  your 


Princess  Russalka  5 

opinion  about  things/^  She  had  said 
nothing  more  about  it.  Now  she  looked 
at  me  with  big  eyes,  fell  on  my  neck 
and  kissed  me. 

^^But  at  Christmas  time,  when  the 
duke  again  came  with  my  father,  I  was 
overcome  with  emotions  that  I  had 
never  felt  before.  My  father  sur- 
prised us  and  the  duke  asked  for  my 
hand  in  marriage. 

^'We  spent  our  honeymoon  in  Naples. 
I  was  very,  very  happy.  Then  we 
went  to  the  castle  of  Egersdorf,  where 
we  could  live  just  for  our  happiness, 
shut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 
I  yearned  for  a  child  as  only  a  young 
married  woman  can.  It  seemed  in- 
credible that  this  joy  should  now  be 
denied  to  me.  During  the  first  year 
I  spoke  of  it  daily,  as  of  something  that 
was  as  certain  to  come  as  winter  and 
spring.  But  I  had  no  child.  I  prayed 
for  whole  nights  at  a  time;  I  knelt 
and  prayed  that  God  might  let  me  die 
rather  than  deny  us  His  blessing.  But 
I  had  no  child.     And  besides,  my  hus- 


6  Princess  Russalka 

band  began  to  gaze  at  me  queerly, 
and  I  noticed  that  his  love  for  me  was 
growing  cooler.     We  were  bored. 

^^Then  my  cousin,  the  countess  Telecky 
came  from  Vienna  to  visit  us.  My 
husband  loathed  her,  but  for  me  she 
was  a  new  world.  She  had  read  every- 
thing: Ibsen,  Tolstoy,  Zola,  Dostoyev- 
sky,  Nietzsche,  and  Sudermann;  she 
was  a  human  circulating  library.  With- 
in six  months  she  had  changed  me  into 
as  fanatical  an  atheist  as  I  had  before 
been  a  Catholic.  And  when  finally 
I  did  not  feel  one  more  atom  of  faith, 
of  confidence  in  myseK;  when  I  had 
lost  all  that  could  have  helped  me  bear 
up  under  a  misfortune,  then  I  found 
that  she  had  won  over  my  husband  in 
the  meantime,  and  was  already  bearing 
a  child  by  him. 

^^I  was  taken,  unconscious,  to  Vienna. 
For  weeks  I  lay  in  a  high  fever.  After 
my  convalescence  I  went  to  my  father 
to  ask  him  to  help  me  procure  a  di- 
vorce.    At  the  word  ^^ divorce'^  he  told 


Princess  Russalka  7 

me  to  leave  his  home.  Then  I  came 
here,  to  BerUn,  to  secure  a  lawyer, 
but  I  instantly  saw  that  in  whatever 
society  I  might  go  I  would  only  meet 
the  sort  of  people  of  which  the  countess 
Telecky  was  a  type.  I  appeared  to 
myself  like  a  remnant  from  the  Middle 
Ages,  which  happened  to  remain  un- 
noticed in  a  secluded  spot.  I  yearned 
for  all  that  was  modern.  I  cut  off 
my  lovely  hair,  went  in  men's  clothes 
to  the  artists'  ball,  and  wrote  about  the 
woman  questioh.  Before  a  year  had 
passed  I  appeared  publicly  at  meetings. 
^^I  met  Doctor  Rappart  at  the  ^first 
night'  of  'Hedda  Gabler.'  A  few 
days  later,  I  heard  him  speak  at  a 
Social  Democratic  meeting.  Then  he 
visited  me.  His  first  words  were  a 
sincere  appeal  that,  on  account  of  the 
feminine  in  me,  on  account  of  the  high 
calling  of  making  a  good  wife,  I  should 
give  up  this  mad  existence.  He  told 
me  that  I  was  acting  against  my  nature; 
it  might  be  all  right  for  others,  but  not 


8  Princess  Russalka 

for  me.  At  first  I  defended  myself  on 
the  ground  of  service  to  my  cause,  but 
he  had  fathomed  me  so  clearly  that  I 
sat  there  like  a  child  who  was  being 
punished.  The  third  time  he  called 
he  asked  me  to  become  his  wife.  I 
refused,  although  I  had  learned  to  love 
him.  Wherever  I  went  they  spoke  of 
him;  all  Berlin  raved  about  him,  the 
tribune  of  the  people,  the  future  ruler. 
I  watched,  at  a  parade  on  Unter  den 
Linden,  how  the  crowd  cheered  him. 
I  heard  some  workingmen  telling  each 
other  that  there  was  nothing  dearer 
to  this  man  than  his  life's  work,  and 
I  knew  what  was  next  dearest  to  him. 
But  I  did  not  have  the  courage  any 
more;  I  felt  myself  divorced  from  all 
worldly  happiness,  because  I  doubted 
whether  I  could  ever  bear  a  man  any 
children. 

^'Then  came  the  most  terrible  days 
I  have  ever  lived  through.  I  decided 
to  die,  and  took  morphine.  They  took 
me    to    a    hospital.     When    I    regained 


Princess  Russalka  9 

consciousness,  I  wept  because  I  had 
done  all  in  vain.  But  there  he  stood 
at  my  bedside  and  leaned  over  me. 
The  doctors  left  us  alone,  and  then  — 
then  all  my  strength  gave  way.  I 
wept  and  wept  on  his  breast,  and  told 
him    everything. 

^^I  begged  him  to  let  me  go  away,  but 
he  was  with  me  every  day.  He  told 
me  things,  which  he  himself  doubted, 
only  to  console  me.  And  finally  —  I 
knew  that  if  there  was  any  happiness  in 
this  world  for  me  it  was  he  who  could 
give  it.  Then  I  fell  on  his  neck  and 
let  him  cover  me  with  kisses,  while 
I,  through  it  all,  felt  entirely  unworthy 
of  him. 

*^We  were  married.  He  insisted  that 
we  be  also  married  by  the  Church. 
And  now  .  .  .'^ 

The  princess  arose  quickly,  went  into 
the  next  room  and  brought  out  the 
rosy,  little,  blue-eyed  Social  Demo- 
crat, who  measured  the  baroness  with 
a  deep,  stern  look. 


10  Princess  Russalka 

'^Now    conceive    my    happiness !'' 
The     baroness     smiled.     ^^I      should 

much   prefer    a   little   baron  —  or    even 

a  baroness/' 


THE    GRISLY    SUITOR. 

Leonie  Fisher  had  a  fine  nature. 
The  charm  of  her  features,  which  were 
rather  sweet  than  pretty,  lay  in  the 
expression  of  the  eyes  and  of  the  some- 
what drawn-up  hps.  The  judge  of 
human  nature  who  saw  her  had  to 
confess  that  Leonie's  attractions  were 
not  perishable,  and  that  a  woman  with 
the  same  charms  would  be  just  as 
alluring  as  the  young  girl.  The  shape 
of  her  head,  and  the  line  of  smooth 
closely  coifed  black  hair,  were  perfect. 
She  was  rather  plump,  but  her  hips 
were  a  little  too  thin;  her  foot  was 
small,  and  her  hands  also  would  prob- 
ably have  been  pretty  if  she  had  not 
been  keeping  house  ever  since  the  end 
of  her  school  days.  She  did  the  sweep- 
ing,  cooking,   cleaning  and  washing. 

Leonie  Fisher  was  of  that  type  which 
is  at  ease  in  all  kinds  of  society,  a 
type  which  is  never  offensive,  thanks 
to  an  inborn  tact  and  unselfish  mind; 


12  The  Grisly  Suitor 

a  type  which  always  sympathizes  with 
others. 

Since  her  fifth  year  Leonie  had  had 
no  mother  and  had  never  been  outside 
of  the  httle  town  of  Lenzburg.  Her 
father  was  in  his  shop  all  day  long,  and 
in  the  evenings  would  sit  with  some 
sullen  old  men  around  a  poorly  lighted 
table,  in  one  of  the  innumerable  inns, 
and  never  came  home  before  eleven 
o'clock.  Since  her  older  sister  had  died 
Leonie  had  spent  almost  every  evening 
at  home  alone,  doing  some  fine  crochet- 
ing or  reading  a  book  from  the  town 
library.  And  she  had  always  been 
satisfied.  When  she  was  only  seventeen 
she  could  have  married  well.  Her  father 
was  furious  at  the  time  that  she  had 
refused  the  offer.  But  she  had  smiled 
quietly  to  herself;  she  would  wait  until 
the  right  one  came  along;  she  did  not 
believe  in  trying  out.  And  when  the 
right  man  did  appear  she  wasted  no 
time  in  deliberating.  He  was  of  me- 
dium height,  about  thirty-five  years 
old,   and  he  had  a  profitable  business. 


The  Grisly  Suitor  13 

But  what  attracted  her  most  was  that 
he  could  be  serious,  and  when  she 
wanted  to  she  could  talk  to  him  about 
things  that  did  not  concern  either  his 
business  or  her  father's  shop. 

The  young  couple  spent  their  honey- 
moon at  the  Gar  da  See.  There  they 
sat  in  the  afternoon  sun  on  the  veran- 
dah, spoke  but  little,  and  were  thankful 
for  the  beautiful  world  about  them. 
Leonie  smiled  whenever  she  caught  her 
husband's  eyes.  Then  he  would  glance 
at  her  earnestly  so  that  she  blushed 
up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  but  im- 
mediately he  would  look  at  her  in  a 
supplicating  and  helpless  manner  as  if 
he  were  begging  her  pardon.  It  always 
ended  when  she  laid  her  hand  in  his 
and  let  him  fondle  it.  And  thus  it 
went  every  day  from  dawn  to  sunset. 
Leonie  enjoyed  her  happiness  without 
affectation,  in  absolute  abandon,  but 
without  any  judgment,  and  without 
any  consideration  of  her  person.  She 
loved  love  above  all,  and  but  seldom 
was    she    happy    at    the    thought    of 


14  The  Grisly  Suitor 

having  found  such  a  kind,  good  man 
to  share  her  future  Ufe  with  her.  And 
it  was  as  she  had  dreamed  during  the 
many  long  evenings  that  she  sat  at 
home  alone.  At  the  altar  she  had 
promised  herself  never  to  hold  any 
one  responsible  for  her  marriage  but 
herself.  And  besides,  she  had  prayed 
to  heaven  to  spare  her  and  hers  from 
all  unlooked  for  sorrows. 

Quiet  reigned  in  the  large  hotel.  The 
door  to  their  room  was  locked  and  the 
heavy,  green  curtains  were  drawn. 
There  was  a  night  lamp  burning  on  the 
table.  It  was  long  past  midnight  but 
the  young  couple  could  not  sleep.  It 
was  probably  because  they  had  such 
little  exercise  during  the  daytime,  and 
becailse  they  always  drank  black  coffee 
after  their  dinner. 

^'How  does  it  happen,"  asked  the 
young  man  in  a  whisper,  ^^that  a  young 
girl  of  your  age,  with  so  much  emotion, 
is  always  so  quiet.  The  way  you  talk 
and  act  among  people  makes  one  believe 
that    you    have    lived    before.    Other 


The  Grisly  Suitor  15 

girls  of  your  age  are  always  out,  but 
you  grow  quieter  and  more  sedate  from 
day  to  day. 

^^  Perhaps  it  is  on  account  of  what 
I  went  through  in  my  youth/ ^  answered 
the  young  woman.  Her  eyes  glowed 
in  the  black  night  that  lay  about  them. 
What  did  you  go  through? '^ 
Why,  when  my  sister  died.  Didn^t 
I  ever  tell  you  about  it?'' 

^^No.  That  is,  I  don't  remember  that 
you  did." 

^^You  have  seen  her  picture.  She 
was  nearly  a  head  taller  than  I  am, 
and  she  had  a  much  stronger  consti- 
tution. Her  arms  were  so  large  that 
I  could  hardly  get  my  two  hands 
around  them.  But  with  all  of  it  she 
was  neither  fat  nor  clumsy.  She  was 
more  supple  than  I,  and  when  she 
walked  the  earth  seemed  to  bend  with 
her  steps.  Perhaps  it  was  on  account 
of  her  large,  well  rounded  hips.  But 
her  neck  was  the  most  beautiful  part 
of  her  body.  When  I  think^of?her|now 
the  first  thing  I  see  is  her  beautifully 


16  The  Grisly  Suitor 

molded  neck  and  her  lovely,  sloping 
shoulders.  She  was  so  strong  and  healthy 
that  no  one  would  have  ever  im- 
agined that  she  would  die.  Only  she 
herself  used  to  have  the  most  terrible 
thoughts;  one  could  almost  see  them 
in  her  eyes.  When  one  looked  at  her 
one  thought  that  she  was  going  to  weep 
the  next  moment.  She  used  to  tell 
long  stories  about  a  catastrophe  that 
had  occurred  or  that  was  going  to 
happen  in  the  future;  and  when  later 
on  one  would  think  over  what  she  had 
said,  one  would  realize  that  there  was 
nothing  in  it.  She  was  always  excited 
and  also  bashful.  From  the  mere  fear 
of  unhappiness  and  death  she  never 
really  went  out  into  the  world  until  the 
very  end;  but  then  it  was  different. 
And  that  was  the  very  thing  that 
never  gave  her  any  peace  of  mind. 
From  the  very  day  that  she  put  on 
long  skirts  and  was  confirmed,  she 
thought  of  one  thing  only  :|  how  and 
when  she  would  get  married.^^Andfwith 
it  all  she  had  a  presentiment,  I'T^don't 


The  Grisly  Suitor  17 

know  where  from,  that  it  would  never 
happen  —  that  she  would  die  before 
it.  And  that  was  the  basis  of  what 
finally  happened. 

^^I  remember/^  continued  Leonie,  ^^I 
was  perhaps  ten  years  old  and  we  slept 
in  the  same  bed.  Next  to  the  bed 
stood  the  crib  in  which  my  doll  slept; 
and  in  the  other  bed  slept  our  old 
nurse  Lisbeth.  Lisbeth  snored  so  loud 
that  we  often  woke  up  in  the  middle 
of  the  night.  Then  we  would  talk 
very  quietly  in  the  dark  just  as  we 
are  talking  now;  only  then  we  did  not 
have  a  four-post  bed.  Once  Clara 
asked  me  what  sort  of  a  man  I  was 
going  to  marry.  I  had  never  thought 
about  it,  so  I  said  that  I  did  not  know. 
Then  she  told  me  that  hers  would  have 
to  have  broad  shoulders  and  be  large 
and  well  built;  that  his  nose  must  be 
straight  and  that  he  would  have  to 
wear  a  small  black  moustache  and  have 
pearly  teeth.  His  hair  would  be  short 
and  his  ears  small,  while  he  must  have 
well  formed  legs  and  wear  large  boots 


18  The  Grisly  Suitor 

with  spurs.  It  took  her  half  of  the 
night  to  tell  me  about  him.  We  thought 
of  all  of  our  acquaintances,  but  there 
was  not  one  among  them  who  was 
stately  enough.  .  .  .  And  finally  she 
said,  with  her  head  against  my  breast 
and  in  a  sobbing  voice:  ^I  think  that 
I  will  have  to  marry  a  man  of  fifty  or 
sixty  years,  who  has  lost  all  of  his 
teeth  and  who  coughs  and  sputters 
at  every  word  he  utters.  Oh,  Leonie, 
Leonie,  if  you  only  knew  how  much  I 
fear  and  dread  it'/  All  the  blood  had 
gone  to  her  head  and  her  arms  were 
as  hot  as  fire. 

'^And  on  another  night  when  Lisbeth 
was  again  snoring  loudly  Clara  told  me 
all  about  Hfe,  why  one  marries,  and 
why  women  dress  differently  than  men. 
I  found  it  all  very  natural,  but  she 
made  a  dismal  story  of  it.  She  could 
hardly  speak  and  I  could  hear  her  heart 
beating.  I  had  never  known  anything 
about  all  she  told  me,  but  I  had  never 
imagined    anything    unnatural   either. 

'^When    she    came    back    from    Italy 


The  Grisly  Suitor  19 

three  years  later  —  she  had  by  this 
time  become  a  truly  beautiful  girl, 
aside  from  her  corpulence  —  imme- 
diately an  old  man,  a  trembling  old 
court  recorder,  proposed  marriage  to 
her.  For  four  weeks  she  did  not  get 
over  the  shock.  She  did  not  go  out,  she 
did  not  speak;  her  eyes  were  always  on 
the  ground  so  that  she  never  looked 
at  any  one  any  more.  It  seemed  almost 
as  if  she  were  losing  her  mind.  The 
recorder  was  a  very  much  respected 
man;  but  of  course  I  could  never  have 
loved  him  either.  He  told  my  father 
that  he  would  like  to  marry  Clara 
because  her  lips  were  never  firmly 
closed,  which,  he  felt,  implied  that  she 
had  a  good  heart.  And  he  was  right. 
At  first  she  received  him  in  quite  a 
friendly  manner.  But  when  she  real- 
ized what  his  intentions  were,  she 
shrieked  aloud  and  had  terrible  cramps. 
We  had  to  make  cold  applications  for 
her  all  day. 

^^In    the    following    summer    Rudolf 
Eisner  came  to  Lenzburg.     And  it  was 


20  The  Grisly  Suitor 

as  if  heaven  had  sent  him,  for  he  and 
Clara  seemed  to  have  been  made  just 
for  each  other,  as  no  couple  ever  had 
been  before.  She  met  him  for  the 
first  time  when  she  was  going  bathing; 
and  immediately  it  seemed  as  if  some 
one  had  come  into  her  life.  She  could 
hardly  go  on  walking.  That  evening 
when  we  were  alone  she  told  me  about 
it;  she  had  felt  the  blood  rushing 
through  all  of  her  veins  she  said.  When 
she  came  home  to  supper  that  evening 
she  complained  of  the  tepidness  of  the 
water,  and  in  reality  it  was  only  fifty- 
two  degrees. 

^'It  was  very  hard  for  her  to  avoid 
showing  her  feeling,  but  it  was  just 
the  same  with  him.  The  very  next 
day  he  came  to  the  store  to  buy  cigars. 
Clara  was  watching  from  the  window. 
He  was  a  veritable  Hercules.  His  chest 
was  so  well  developed  that  a  heavy 
wagon  could  have  passed  over  it;  he 
had  no  moustache  yet  —  he  was  only 
twenty-three  years  old;  his  mouth  was 
broad  and  full,  while  his  lips  were  thin 


The  Grisly  Suitor  21 

but  full  of  expression.  When  he  was 
going  out  of  the  lower  gate  he  bent 
his  head  unconsciously;  he  wore  his 
hat  on  the  back  of  his  head  —  that 
was  the  only  untidy  thing  about  him. 
His  head  was  firm,  but  dignified  and 
graceful;  he  did  not  carry  it  lowered 
like  a  steer,  but  high  like  a  lion.  He 
had  just  served  in  the  army  —  he  was 
in  the  artillery,  I  think  —  and  now  he 
was  agent  for  a  metal  company.  I 
trembled  from  pure  delight  when  I 
saw  Clara  standing  next  to  me  breath- 
ing fast  and  oblivious  of  all  that  was 
passing  around  her.  I  was  still  a  per- 
fect child  at  the  time,  but  I  must  say 
that  when  two  weeks  later  they  became 
secretly  engaged,  I  am  sure  that  I  was 
just  as  happy  about  it  as  they  them- 
selves. 

^^They  met  at  the  post  office.  He 
was  writing  a  postal  card;  she  also 
wanted  to  write  one  so  he  gave  her 
the  pen,  and  then  they  became  engaged. 
They  had  hardly  spoken  a  word.  He 
had  looked  into  her  soul,  and  she  had 


22  The  Grisly  Suitor 

gazed  into  his;  and  then  all  was  as 
clear  and  firm  as  the  vaulted  heavens. 
AVhen  she  came  home,  she  kneeled 
down  by  the  sofa,  shrieked  for  hap- 
piness, and  beat  her  feet  on  the  floor. 
'^They  could  not  announce  their  en- 
gagement then.  They  could  not  be 
married  yet  as  he  was  still  only  a 
clerk;  but  he  had  prospects  of  becom- 
ing manager  in  the  near  future.  His 
father  was  a  rich  miller,  and  Clara 
was  to  get  some  money  also;  but 
they  would  have  to  wait  at  least 
another  year.  And  every  evening,  when 
his  business  was  over,  we,  Clara  and 
I,  would  go  out  into  the  woods  together. 
She  had  to  take  me  along,  for  if  she 
had  gone  alone  other  girls  would  have 
followed  to  see  where  she  was  going. 
In  the  woods  they  would  kiss  for  an 
hour,  until  dinner  time.  I  always  sat 
close  by;  Clara  had  insisted  that  I 
should  never  leave  her  alone  with  him 
for  a  minute,  and  I  believe  that  he  was 
honestly  thankful  for  it;  in  any  case, 
he    understood     her;     she    wanted    to 


The  Grisly  Suitor  23 

treasure  their  life's  happiness  with  all 
safety.  But,  for  me,  it  was  no  little 
thing  to  sit  there  every  evening  and 
watch  them  first  blush,  then  tremble, 
and  at  last  not  say  a  word  for  an  entire 
hour,  looking  all  the  while  as  serious  as 
storm  clouds.  Whenever  Rudolf  turned 
around  he  would  give  me  a  friendly 
glance.  I  used  to  take  my  reader  with 
me,  but  often  the  letters  would  dance 
about  the  page  and  mean  nothing  to 
me.  Then  when  I  would  look  up  at 
Clara  she  would  be  wiping  the  tears 
from  her  eyes.  Often,  on  our  return 
home,  I  felt  very  sorry  for  her,  but  I 
was  so  dutiful  that  I  did  not  dare  say 
anything.  And  thus  it  went  on  for 
a  whole  year,  in  sunshine,  rain,  and 
snow. 

'^Towards  the  end  of  the  next  sum- 
mer, in  the  early  part  of  September, 
Rudolf  went  home  one  day  and  settled 
everything  with  his  father.  His  father 
was  to  give  him  enough  money  to  buy 
a  partnership  in  the  business.  That 
would    be  in  February;    then  he  could 


24  The  Grisly  Suitor 

get  married  and  take  Clara  to  Italy. 
Cards  were  sent  out  immediately;  all 
of  Lenzburg  congratulated  them  and 
Clara  felt  considerably  embarrassed. 
Everything  seemed  so  queer  to  her 
that  she  often  became  as  lively  as  other 
engaged   girls. 

^^Now,  of  course,  he  came  to  the 
house  every  night.  Father  sat  at  the 
inn  and  I  did  my  lessons.  Clara  and 
Rudolf  did  their  very  best  not  to  be- 
come so  excited  as  in  the  beginning; 
the  kissing  was  not  the  same  any 
longer;  they  had  become  wiser,  and  the 
wedding  day  was  coming  nearer.  But 
they  devoured  each  other  with  their 
eyes;  I  can  stiD  see  them  sitting  si- 
lently opposite  one  another,  she  on  the 
sofa  and  he  on  the  taboret,  like  two 
mummies.  Sometimes,  in  order  to  pass 
the  time  away,  I  would  tell  them  about 
what  I  was  reading  until  I  saw  that 
they  were  not  listening  to  me.  Then  I 
also  grew  silent  and  wrote  my  compo- 
sition. There  was  a  deathlike  quiet. 
All  that  could  be  heard  was  the  sputter- 


The  Grisly  Suitor  25 

ing  of  the  lamp,  the  scratching  of  my 
pen,  and  our  breathing. 

^^On  the  first  of  December,  Clara 
had  a  terrible  fit.  It  was  right  after 
dinner.  She  lost  control  of  her  mind, 
her  face  and  hands  became  blue,  her 
breathing  almost  stopped,  and  her  heart 
beat  violently.  During  the  entire  morn- 
ing she  had  feared  that  war  was  going 
to  break  out  on  her  wedding  day  and 
that  Rudolf  would  have  to  ride  with 
the  artillery.  I  opened  her  waist  and 
loosened  her  stays,  but  it  did  no  good. 
When  the  doctor  arrived  she  was  al- 
ready in  bed.  He  pronounced  it  a  bad 
heart  attack.  He  gave  her  something 
that  brought  her  back  to  consciousness 
again.  Her  first  words  on  opening  her 
eyes  were,  ^'Oh,  Leonie,  Oh,  Leonie, 
I  am  going  to  die!" 

^'That  evening  the  doctor  came  again; 
Rudolf  and  I  were  standing  at  her 
bedside.  When  he  left  he  told  me  that 
under  no  considerations  should  I  allow 
Rudolf  to  see  her  again;  he  saw  that 
it    excited    her    too    much;    her    whole 


26  The  Grisly  Suitor 

illness  was  only  from  excitement,  and 
if  I  allowed  him  to  see  her  again,  it 
might  mean  her  immediate  death.  He 
told  my  father  the  same.  And  it  was 
for  me  to  tell  Rudolf  about  it.  The 
next  day,  of  course,  I  did  not  go  to 
school. 

^'Old  Lisbeth  had  left  when  Clara 
had  returned  from  Italy  and  was  able 
to  help  along  in  the  household.  And 
since  that  time  I  had  slept  in  Lisbeth's 
bed.  During  the  first  night  I  was  up 
every  hour  putting  cold  compresses 
on  Clara's  heart.  On  the  next  day,  as 
she  was  no  better,  we  engaged  a  trained 
nurse,  who  stayed  all  day,  and  helped 
along  in  the  house  so  that  I  could  go 
to  school.  Rudolf  was  as  if  turned  to 
stone  when  I  told  him  that  he  could 
not  see  Clara  again;  he  did  not  say  a 
word;  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  not  under- 
stood me.  Morning,  noon,  and  night 
he  came  to  the  shop  and  asked  how 
she  was  getting  along.  She  was  not 
doing  well.  During  the  whole  night 
Clara  had  been  gasping  for  breath  and 


The  Grisly  Suitor  27 

had  not  slept  at  all.  Only  in  the 
morning  was  she  able  to  get  a  few 
hours  sleep.  She  had  no  pains,  but  as 
soon  as  she  left  her  bed  she  became 
terribly  dizzy.  And  with  it  all  she  did 
not  look  any  different  than  usual;  in 
fact,  she  looked  almost  better;  her  large 
eyes  shone  brightly  and  there  was 
something  powerful  in  her  expression; 
she  was  truly  wonderful  to  behold.  Of 
course  she  always  spoke  of  him;  with 
tears  in  her  eyes  she  begged  me  to 
allow  him  to  come  up  to  see  her.  I 
told  her  that  I  could  not;  she  would 
soon  be  better  and  then  they  could  get 
married.  But  she  looked  up  at  the 
white  ceiUng  as  if  she  knew  very  well 
that  she  would  never  be  better.  And 
then  we  would  hear  Rudolf  walking 
up  and  down  on  the  street  below.  I 
felt  a  horrible  twinge  in  my  throat. 
I  would  have  Uked  to  have  knelt  down 
at  my  sister's  bedside  and  wept  with 
her.  But  I  told  myself  that  for  her 
sake,  I  could  not  show  my  feeUngs  and 
I  swallowed  hard. 


28  The  Grisly  Suitor 

^'The  next  night  I  dreamed  that  I 
had  a  talk  with  Rudolf.  I  saw  him 
on  his  knees  before  me,  his  hands 
clasped  in  supplication,  and  in  his 
hands  he  held  a  knife  with  which  he 
wanted  to  kill  himself.  And  all  I 
could  say  was,  ^No,  no,  no,  no,  no!^ 
And  it  made  me  happy  that  I  could 
torment  him.  Suddenly,  all  was  blood. 
I  awoke  and  heard  Clara  speaking  to 
herself.  ^Merciful  God,  have  pity  on 
me!'  she  murmured.  ^Have  mercy  on 
me!  In  what  way  have  I  deserved  this! 
Oh,  Rudolf,  RudoK!' 

'^I  got  up  and  gave  her  a  powder. 
Then  I  stood  in  front  of  the  stove  in 
my  nightgown  and  in  order  to  calm 
her,  let  her  tell  me  all  sorts  of  things 
about  him,  things  that  he  had  told  her 
about  his  military  career. 

^^My  first  recitation  the  next  morning 
was  arithmetic.  I  had  done  the  prob- 
lems, but  when  I  was  standing  in  front 
of  the  blackboard,  all  of  a  sudden  I 
did  not  know  how  much  twice  twenty 
was.     During     recess     the     other     girls 


The  Grisly  Suitor  29 

asked  me  what  was  the  matter.  I 
saw  them  running  around  the  school- 
house  as  if  they  were  ghosts,  and  could 
only  think  of  Rudolf  and  Clara.  I 
went  home  arm  in  arm  with  my  friend 
Marie  Hemmann.  She  was  tactful 
enough  not  to  ask  me  why  I  was  so 
quiet,  and  when  we  met  Rudolf  in 
front  of  our  house  she  left  me  im- 
mediately. 

'^He  was  in  a  terrible  state  of  excite- 
ment, and  was  all  in  a  tremble.  He 
clawed  at  his  breast  and  told  me  that 
it  was  there  that  he  felt  how  Clara 
was  suffering,  and  that  if  anything 
could  bring  on  death  it  was  following 
the  doctor's  orders.  He  would  like  to 
kill  that  inhuman  wretch  for  his  mur- 
derous knowledge.  I  told  him  that 
he  should  tell  the  doctor  himself;  that 
I  understood  his  feelings  perfectly,  but 
of  course  I  did  not  have  the  power  to 
do  anything.  Then  he  took  my  hand 
in  his  and  pressed  it  so  that  it  ached, 
and  with  the  other  he  smoothed  my 
hair.     'No,'  he  said,  'you  cannot  under- 


30  The  Grisly  Suitor 

stand,  you  are  still  nothing  but  a  school 
girl.  But  you  can  be  of  help  to  me. 
Your  father  goes  to  the  inn  every 
evening,  and  then  you  are  alone  with 
Clara,  and  then  .  .  .' 

^^^Oh,  heavens,'  I  cried,  'I  cannot! 
I  cannot!'  and  I  tore  myself  away  from 
him  and  ran  into  the  house.  I  could 
not  go  up  to  see  Clara.  I  sat  in  the 
kitchen  and  wept  and  wept  until  dinner 
time. 

^^That  evening  the  doctor  came  again 
and  made  a  very  hopeless  face,  although 
we  could  notice  no  change  in  Clara. 
But  he  had  felt  her  pulse  and  had 
tapped  her  heart  for  a  half -hour.  ^Only 
no  excitement!  Anything  but  excite- 
ment!' he  said.  After  supper  I  was 
again  alone  with  her,  and  she  told  me 
the  very  same  thing  that  RudoK  had. 
It  was  just  as  if  they  had  had  an  under- 
standing. She  scolded  me  heartlessly 
and  told  me  that  I  was  not  her  sister. 
And  with  it  all  she  sobbed  so  that  her 
pillow  was  wet  through  and  through. 
She   told  me  to  go  downstairs  and  get 


The  Grisly  Suitor  31 

him.  She  was  glad  to  die,  she  continued, 
and  knew  that  there  was  no  hope  for 
her,  but  she  would  have  to  be  alone 
with  him.  She  was  leaning  on  her 
elbow  and  her  whole  body  shook  with 
pain.  I  thought  that  it  would  never 
cease.  And  not  until  she  heard  his 
steps  in  the  street  below  did  she  be- 
come calmer.  In  the  middle  of  the 
night  I  was  awakened  by  a  cry  of 
misery  that  I  shall  never  forget.  I 
jumped  up  and  gave  her  a  glass  of 
water.  She  drank  a  whole  bottle.  She 
told  me  that  she  had  had  a  bad  dream. 
The  following  morning  as  I  was  getting 
dressed  she  told  me  what  she  had 
dreamed.       It  was  terrible. 

^^As  soon  as  she  closed  her  eyes,  she 
always  saw  an  old  man.  The  first  time 
he  appeared  was  when  she  had  had  her 
fit.  He  was  bald,  and  his  large,  leaf- 
like ears  stood  out  far  from  his  head. 
He  had  a  short  gray  beard,  and  a  very 
small  nose.  His  breast  was  like  a 
child's,  and  he  had  thin,  bony  legs. 
He  always  appeared  in  a  high  hat  and 


32  The  Grisly  Suitor 

a  frock  coat,  and  used  a  cane  to  feel 
his  way  along.  His  face  was  so  re- 
pulsive that  it  almost  froze  the  blood 
in  one's  veins.  He  had  immediately 
appeared  to  her  as  her  husband-to-be; 
in  two  weeks  he  was  to  marry  her. 
And  each  time  he  would  kiss  her,  she 
always  tried  to  push  him  away  with 
her  knees  and  elbows,  but  he  held  her 
head  so  tight  that  she  could  not  resist 
his  caresses.  And  that  night  he  had 
wanted  to  take  her  along  with  him. 
Rudolf  had  protected  her,  but  the  old 
man  had  hit  him  across  the  eyes  with 
his  cane.  Then  he  had  bent  over  her. 
She  was  fully  conscious  that  she  was 
in  bed.  Always  nearer  came  his  red- 
rimmed  eyes  and  his  freckled  face,  and 
only  just  as  he  placed  his  bony  hands 
on  her  neck,  had  she  had  the  power 
to  cry  out.  'Oh,  Rudolf,'  she  sobbed 
with  folded  hands,  'I  shall  not  see  you 
again,  I  shall  not  see  you  again.' 

''When  I  came  down  stairs  I  found 
Rudolf  in  the  shop,  talking  to  my  father 
with  his   head  bowed  in  grief,   but   he 


The  Grisly  Suitor  33 

was  so  manly,  so  youthful,  and  had 
such  a  soulful  expression  that  he  was 
wonderful  to  look  upon. 

^^  During  my  first  two  recitations  I 
was  all  confused.  I  had  my  poor 
sister's  nightmare  continually  before  my 
eyes.  Then  we  had  composition,  and 
I  gradually  collected  my  thoughts.  Our 
teacher  was  an  old  man,  but  he  was 
kind-hearted.  Each  one  of  us  fifteen 
girls  used  to  read  the  same  compo- 
sition to  him,  one  after  another,  and 
yet  he  always  found  something  praise- 
worthy to  say  to  every  girl.  The  only 
thing  that  he  could  not  bear  was  when 
our  skirts  were  too  short,  and  when  we 
wore  colored  hair  ribbons.  Then  he 
said  we  were  proud  little  chits.  Marie 
Hemmann  told  him  once,  when  he 
was  remarking  about  her  dress,  that 
it  was  not  her  fault  that  her  legs  were 
so  long.  Then  he  raised  the  cover  of 
his  desk  and  did  not  come  out  of  his 
hiding  place  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

'^  It  is  death,'  I  said  to  myself, 
^it  is  death  that  is  coming  to  get  her.' 


34  The  Grisly  Suitor 

And  then  I  decided  to  go  to  the  doctor 
right  after  school  and  ask  him  whether 
there  was  any  chance  for  Clara's  re- 
covery. There  was  a  gnawing  in  me; 
I  had  the  feeUng  that  I  was  going  to 
be  ill  myseK.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  in 
Clara's  place.  I  felt  her  yearning  for 
Rudolf  and  also  her  horror  for  the  old 
man.  'You  are  an  awful  wretch  without 
feeling/  I  said  to  myself;  'Clara  is 
terribly  excited  because  she  cannot  see 
him,  and  she  cannot  possibly  get  any 
worse  if  she  does  see  him,  and  it  will 
probably  calm  her  if  anything.  And 
if  she  were  to  die,  and  if  she  were  really 
to  die,  he  could  not  even  say  farewell 
to  her!  And  then  I  told  myself  that 
the  old  man  had  no  right  to  her,  that 
no  one  but  RudoK  had  the  right  to 
kiss  her.  'The  old  man  is  death,'  I 
said  to  myself,  'and  Rudolf  is  life. 
When  Rudolf  is  with  her  the  old  man 
will  not  dare  to  come.  And  if  the  old 
man  is  to  get  her  anyway,  then  it 
makes  no  difference  if  she  does  see 
Rudolf  once  more.' 


The  Grisly  Suitor  35 

*^At  noon,  when  school  was  over,  I 
ran  to  the  doctor;  I  had  left  my  bag 
in  school;  I  must  have  looked  quite 
wan.  The  doctor  drew  me  towards 
him  and  told  me  that  he  had  known  for 
a  long  time  that  there  was  no  chance 
for  her  recovery;  that  his  drugs  had 
been  wholly  useless,  but  that  I  should 
not  weep  as  I  must  realize  that  God 
would  take  care  of  her.  Then  the 
tears  came  to  my  eyes;  I  told  him  that 
I  only  wanted  to  find  out.  Then  he 
said  that  all  might  be  well  again,  but 
in  such  a  hopeless  way  that  I  knew  he 
just  said  it  to  calm  me. 

^^I  feared  that  the  worst  might  have  al- 
ready happened  without  Rudolf  having 
seen  her,  and  I  ran  all  the  way  home, 
only  to  find  Clara  the  same  as  when  I 
had  left  her.  She  was  beautiful  as  a  rose 
in  full  bloom,  and  she  spoke  very 
quickly.  ^Let  him  come,  Leonie;  let 
him  come  up  to  me'  she  sobbed.  And 
I  repHed,  ^All  right,  this  evening.' 
Then  she  threw  her  arms  about  me, 
pressed    me    close    to    her    breast    and 


36  The  Grisly  Suitor 

kissed  me  as  if  I  had  been  Rudolf 
himself.  I  thought  of  what  the  doctor 
had  said  and  also  of  her  terrible  phan- 
tasies. Before  she  let  me  out  of  her 
embrace,  she  whispered  in  my  ear, 
^But  you  must  leave  me  alone  with 
him.'  And  I  said  that  I  would.  Then 
the  nurse  came  with  Clara's  soup,  and 
I  went  in  to  have  my  supper. 

^^  While  we  were  still  at  the  table  a 
thought  tore  through  my  head.  Al- 
ready yesterday  she  had  told  me  that 
she  wanted  to  be  alone  with  him.  In 
spite  of  the  fact  that  I  was  still  at 
school  I  knew  very  well  what  she 
wanted  of  him.  I  grew  hot  and  cold 
all  over.  ^No,'  I  said  to  myseK,  ^ou 
cannot  allow  that.'  Clara  had  up  to 
this  time  been  a  respectable  girl,  but 
if  she  did  this  she  would  be  so  no 
longer.  I  thought  of  the  old  man  who 
wanted  to  do  violence  to  her.  And 
then  I  thought  that  she  would  have 
to  die;  yes,  have  to  die  without  ever 
having  been  really  loved  like  other 
women   who    get    married.     This   made 


The  Grisly  Suitor  37 

me  certain  that  God  was  indeed  hard. 
If  there  ever  was  a  girl  created  solely 
for  love  it  was  my  sister;  that  I  was 
sure  of. 

"That  afternoon  we  had  our  Bible 
Class.  Before  the  hour  I  walked  up 
and  down  the  hall  with  Marie  Hem- 
mann.  The  boys  who  were  in  our 
class  stood  there  and  stared  at  us. 
Marie  was  wearing  high  brown  shoes, 
and  I  had  on  a  pair  of  brand  new 
low  shoes.  She  asked  how  Clara  was, 
and  I  yearned  to  tell  her  some  of  the 
things  that  were  so  torturing  my  soul. 
But  after  her  first  words  I  realized 
that  she  did  not  know  the  condition 
of  affairs  at  all.  I  would  have  had  to 
explain  all  to  her,  and  rather  than  do 
that  I  kept  quiet.  During  the  recita- 
tion the  parson,  with  whom  all  the 
girls  were  in  love,  told  us  how  the 
Sadducees  came  to  Christ  and  asked 
Him  if  a  man  had  seven  wives  which 
one  he  would  have  in  Heaven;  and  how 
He  answered  them  that  there  were 
neither  men  nor  women  in  Heaven,  and 


38  The  Grisly  Suitor 

that  all  sexual  differences  disappeared. 
Then  a  burden  fell  from  my  heart. 
If  there  were  neither  men  nor  women 
in  Heaven  it  could  make  no  difference 
if  Clara  saw  Rudolf  once  more.  That 
made  me  decide.  And,  as  the  parson 
went  on  talking,  I  said  to  God:  ^If  Thou 
dost  not  wish  Rudolf  to  come  and  see 
my  sister  tonight  then  let  her  get 
better.  Thou  canst  do  that  if  Thou 
dost  desire.  I  shall  not  go  home  until 
this  evening,  and  if  at  that  time  she  is 
the  least  bit  better,  I  will  not  permit 
RudoK  to  see  her.  But  if  she  is  not 
better,  I  will  let  him  see  her.  Oh, 
merciful  God,  Thou  canst  always  stop 
me  if  Thou  dost  not  desire  it  to  happen. 
Thou  canst  let  a  stone  fall  on  me  or 
have  me  murdered.  I  will  be  glad  to 
stake  my  life  in  the  game  in  spite  of 
my  youth.  And  if  all  this  does  not 
happen  then  it  is  a  proof  that  Thou 
didst  not  wish  it  otherwise,  for  Thou 
art    omnipotent.' 

^^I  wandered  out  in  the   snow-covered 
fields    the    whole     afternoon.     I    went 


The  Grisly  Suitor  39 

into  the  woods  also,  and  when  I  came 
to  their  trysting  place  I  was  really 
afraid  that  some  one  would  rush  from 
out  of  the  bushes  and  make  an  end  of 
me.  When  it  struck  six  o'clock  in  the 
village,  I  returned  home.  Clara  was 
in  bed  complaining  about  the  beating 
of  her  heart.  She  told  me  that  she 
had  had  another  visit  from  the  grisly 
suitor,  and  there  had  been  a  terrible 
struggle.  When  he  was  leaving  he  had 
said  that  tonight  was  their  wedding 
night,  and  she  said:  ^Yes  it  is  Rudolf's 
and  my  wedding  night;  yes,  Rudolf's, 
but  not  yours.' 

*^At  seven  o'clock  my  father  went  to 
the  inn,  and  the  nurse  left  at  eight. 
Then  I  crept  down  the  stairs  and 
opened  the  door  to  let  him  in.  As  I 
was  walking  up  the  stairs  behind  him, 
I  did  not  notice  anything  out  of  the 
ordinary.  But  when  I  opened  the  door 
and  let  him  in,  I  saw  how  at  every 
step  nearer  the  bed  his  legs  grew  weaker 
so  that  he  had  to  drag  himself  to  where 
Clara  lay.     I  softly  closed  the  door  and 


40  The  Grisly  Suitor 

then  went  down  to  the  kitchen  where 
only  a  lamp  was  burning.  Then  I 
knelt  down  on  the  hearth  and  prayed 
to  God  that  He  might  not  hold  it 
against  Clara  on  account  of  what  she 
was  now  doing;  He  should  not  punish 
her  as  the  doctor  had  said,  but  should 
rather  make  me  suffer  for  it;  I  would 
be  glad  to  undergo  anything  at  all 
if  Clara  were  only  permitted  to  live 
if  she  did  wrong. 

'^I  heard  the  clock  strike  nine.  Right 
after  that  it  struck  ten.  The  time 
went  as  if  it  had  only  been  a  minute. 
At  half  past  ten  I  went  up  stairs  with 
my  lamp.  I  knocked  softly  at  the 
door  and  told  them  that  it  was  half 
past  ten.  Then  a  terribly  slow  quarter 
of  an  hour  dragged  by.  I  held  my 
breath  as  I  feared  I  would  hear  noises 
in  front  of  the  house,  but  all  I  could 
hear  was  sighs  and  kisses.  Immedi- 
ately after  that  RudoK  stepped  out, 
wrapped  up  in  his  long  cloak,  his  hat 
pushed  forward  on  his  brow.  I  lighted 
the   way   downstairs.     In    the    hall    he 


The  Grisly  Suitor  41 

pressed  my  hand  without  saying  a  word. 
Then  I  let  him  out. 

^^I  was  very  anxious  to  know  how  I 
would  find  Clara.  It  was  as  if  a  soft 
sunset  were  playing  over  her,  and  she 
was  as  hopeful  as  I  have  ever  remem- 
bered her  to  be.  Not  a  word  did  she 
utter  about  death.  She  spoke  only 
of  their  wedding,  of  their  trip  to  Italy. 
Tomorrow  she  would  get  up  again. 
Then  all  at  once  she  began  to  talk  of 
our  childhood  days,  of  our  games  and 
how  she  had  sometimes  maltreated  me. 
Then  she  laughed,  and  I  wept  for  joy. 

'^She  could  not  become  calm,  but 
finally  she  fell  asleep.  The  next  morn- 
ing when  I  got  up  she  lay  very  quiet, 
and  I  thought  that  I  would  not  disturb 
her.  Her  head  was  buried  deep  in  the 
pillow,  so  I  did  not  approach  her  bed 
but  softly  tiptoed  out  of  the  room. 
Below  I  told  them  that  she  was  sleep- 
ing. I  was  hardly  in  school  when  the 
nurse  came  running  in  and  brought  me 
back.     When    I    came    into    the    room 


42  The  Grisly  Suitor 

my  father  and  the  doctor  were  stand- 
ing at  her  bedside.     She  was  dead/' 

It  was  deathly  quiet  in  the  large 
hotel.  The  young  husband  had  listened 
very  sympathetically  to  his  wife's  story. 
Then  he  told  himself  that  a  creature 
who  at  the  age  of  fifteen  was  capable 
of  sympathizing  so  thoroughly  with 
the  life  about  her  would  blossom  forth 
even  more  wonderfully  as  a  mature 
woman.  And  he  felt  himself  fortunate 
in  having  at  his  side  such  a  treasure 
of  quiet  deliberation,  unselfishness,  and 
deep   resignation. 


I  AM  BORED. 

(1883) 

February  9.  I  am  so  terribly  bored 
that  I  have  again  taken  refuge  in  my 
diary  which  I  have  not  kept  now  for 
ten  months.  When  Carl  and  I  take 
Wilhelmine  down  the  hill  I  wonder 
what  the  best  way  is  to  have  her  love 
me  for  the  winter.  She  has  really 
become  quite  charming,  with  her  black 
eyes,  her  pretty  little  head,  and  her 
beautiful  plump  arms,  which  boast  of 
loving.  She  has  now,  for  the  first  time, 
really  budded  out,  although  she  is 
twenty-seven  years  old. 

February  12.  Wilhelmine  let  me  know 
that  I  should  call  for  her  at  the  skating 
rink.  She  says  that  she  is  head  over 
heels  in  love.  When  I  step  into  her 
boudoir  she  presses  a  photograph  into 
my  hands.  It  is  his  picture.  While  I 
look  at  him,  she  stands  in  front  of  me, 
with  an  album  in  her  hands  and  recites 
with   hair-raising  gestures  some  of    the 


44  /  am  Bored 

verses  she  has  written  to  him.  In  the 
rink,  when  we  are  skating  hand  in 
hand,  she  draws  the  photograph  out  of 
her  pocket  again,  gazes  at  it  with 
loving  fondness,  and  loses  one  of  her 
skates  every  ten  steps.  All  the  way 
home  she  does  the  same  thing.  In  my 
room  she  covers  the  picture  with  kisses 
and  slides  it  in  and  out  of  the  envelope, 
so  that  she  can  fully  appreciate  the 
various  and  individual  traits.  All  she 
desires  is  to  be  able  to  travel  with 
him  for  four  weeks.  He  is  a  celebrated 
tenor.  For  a  half-year  with  him  she 
would  gladly  sacrifice  the  rest  of  her 
life.  I  really  cannot  blame  her,  for  up 
to  the  present  her  life  has  been  pretty 
monotonous  and  the  future  does  not 
look  any  brighter.  While  we  are  play- 
ing duets  she  presses  a  kiss  upon  his 
adored  features  at  every  quarter  rest. 
At  the  end  of  the  etude  she  is  in  ab- 
solute agony;  she  sinks  into  the  corner 
of  the  sofa,  and  is  resistless  to  all  of 
my  fondling.     Only  once  in  a  while  she 


/  am  Bored  45 

murmurs  with  dying  voice:  '^Oh,  you 
are   so   repulsive,    so   repulsive !'' 

God  bless  you,  heavenly  tenor!  I 
had  never  pictured  such  results.  I  do 
not  seem  to  be  so  terribly  bored  any 
more. 

February  13.  Wilhelmine  receives  me 
with  open  arms.  She  could  not  have 
sung  her  aria  if  I  had  not  put  her  in 
the  mood.  The  Cecilia  Choral  Society 
wants  to  produce  the  '^  WaffenschmiedJ^ 
She  insists  that  my  lips  are  too  weak, 
too  feminine.  Moreover,  she  insists 
that  love  between  us  is  out  of  the 
question.  And  I  am  really  very  in- 
different about  any  question.  If  her 
mouth  were  just  for  speaking,  I  would 
sew  it  together.  When  there  is  a 
question  of  amusement,  I  love  the 
serious  and  the  quiet.  She  has  written 
some  verses  to  me  that  treat  of  love. 
She  has  not  enough  control  of  the 
language  to  avoid  that  word.  Then  she 
tells  me  when  and  where  she  learned  to 
kiss.  It  is  a  very  tedious,  sentimental 
story,     all    very    monotonous,     but     it 


46  /  am  Bored 

convinces  me  that  she  is  using  her 
maiden  name  with  full  right.  Suddenly 
she  asks  me  where  I  learned  it,  but  I, 
so  suddenly  surprised,  clothe  myself  in 
the  deepest  silence,  while  I  am  fully 
ashamed  of  my  teacher,  my  good  old 
Auntie  Helen. 

February  16.  After  dinner  I  am 
going  to  call  for  Wilhelmine.  She  says 
that  from  today  all  must  be  over 
between  us.  I  told  her  then  that 
nothing  had  begun  as  yet,  and  asked 
her  whether  she  was  impatient,  remark- 
ing, at  the  same  time,  that  I  was  in  no 
hiirry  at  all.  She  wrote  no  less  than 
six  poems,  all  of  which  vary  her  decision. 
Then  she  gets  her  revolver,  presses  me 
into  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  props  my 
chin  up  against  her  breast,  and  with 
drawn  revolver  reads  me  her  verses. 
TrembUng  in  all  of  my  parts  I  beg 
her  to  stop.  Suddenly  she  throws  a 
white  scarf  over  my  head,  falls  on  my 
neck  and  kisses  me  through  the  soft 
silk,  then  flying  into  a  terrible  fury,  she 
throws  her  slipper  in  my  face.     Then 


/  am  Bored  47 

she  entreats  me  to  write  some  verses 
to  her.  I  write  three  short  stanzas 
in  which  I  rhyme  Brodem*  with  Sodom, 
and  she  feels  deeply  insulted. 

In  the  evening,  on  the  window  seat 
in  the  upper  room,  she  declares  that 
she  wanted  to  have  just  a  taste  of  love 
and  that  she  was  then  caught  in  the 
stream  for  good.  But  she  wants  to 
stop  before  the  time  comes  to  lay  her 
aside.  Then  she  asks  me  to  be  abso- 
lutely honest.  I  ask  her  whether  she 
knows  what  the  most  terrible  thing  in 
life  is.  She  answers:  '^Desire  without 
satisfaction.^'  I  shake  my  head  and 
whisper  into  her  ear:  ^'Tedium!"  \ 
She  sympathizes  deeply  with  me. 

At  supper  the  question  comes  up  as 
to  whether  the  road  to  the  heart  is 
by  way  of  the  lips,  or  whether  the  road 
to  the  lips  leads  through  the  heart. 
Opinions  are  divided  and  the  discussion 
waxes  warm.  My  mother  defends  the 
road    through    the    heart;    Wilhelmine 

*Brodem  means  brothel,  but  in  German  its  rhyme  is 
ahnost  perfect. 


48  I  am  Bored 

sincerely  feels  that  the  road  goes  by 
way  of  the  lips.  Carl,  who  has  for 
the  past  week  been  splitting  wood  from 
morning  to  night,  in  order  to  calm  his 
nerves,  thinks  that  the  road  to  the 
heart  passes  not  through  the  lips,  but 
through  the  ears;  and  that  the  road 
over  the  lips  leads  to  the  stomach, 
rather  than  to  the  heart.  Wilhemine 
wants  to  give  my  poems  to  the  victor, 
but  as  the  manuscript  is  hidden  in  her 
breast  she  does  not.  My  mother  re- 
minds her  that  we  are  among  the  family, 
but  Wilhelmine  says  that  the  manuscript 
has  slipped  down  too  far.  At  these 
words  Carl  lowers  his  eyes,  blushing. 
After  supper  Carl  and  I  light  a 
roaring  log  fire  in  the  fireplace.  Then 
we  get  the  trunk  with  the  Turkish 
costumes  out  of  the  cellar.  As  we 
carry  it  back  through  the  yard  the 
sparks  come  flying  out  of  the  chimney 
and  then  are  lost  among  the  stars. 
Carl  thinks  that  if  the  roof  should 
catch  fire  we  would  be  in  a  terrible 
fix  for  there  is  no  water  to  be  had  now 


/  am  Bored.  49 

that  the  hydrant  is  frozen.  I  calm 
him;  what  great  difference  would  it 
make  if  the  whole  castle  should  go  up 
in  flames! 

We  all  put  on  the  Turkish  costumes. 
My  mother  wears  a  long,  richly  em- 
broidered velvet  coat.  She  dances  in  it 
with  incomparable  spirit  and  grace. 
Wilhelmine,  Carl,  the  two  little  ones, 
and  I  sit  around  on  sofa  cushions  and 
drink  coffee.  Carl  plays  the  accordion 
and  I  accompany  him  on  the  guitar. 
Then  Gretchen  and  Elsa  dance  a  Pas 
de  Deux  which  my  mother  has  taught 
them.  Then  she  tells  us  of  her  stage 
experiences  in  San  Francisco,  in  Val- 
paraiso, of  the  life  on  the  haciendas, 
and  of  her  first  husband,  who  at  the 
end  of  every  one  of  her  concerts  had 
already  gambled  away  all  the  money 
she  had  earned.  He  was  to  be  shot 
not  less  than  three  times  in  his  life: 
Once  during  the  insurrection  in  Vene- 
zuela, once  during  the  Commune,  and 
finally  during  the  Turco-Russian  war. 
At  the  present  time  he  is  officiating  as 


60  /  am  Bored 

master  of  ceremonies  at  the  Palais  de 
Glace  in  Paris.  Suddenly  Gretchen, 
with  her  keen  gaze,  discovers  that  I 
have  a  blood  red  spot  on  my  neck; 
I  can  hardly  keep  from  laughing.  As 
I  accompany  Wilhelmine  down  the 
hill,  in  order  to  console  her  I  tell  her 
that  she  is  not  the  only  one  but  rather 
a  representative;  that  that  is  the  inter- 
esting part  for  me;  to  consider  her 
first  as  a  type  and  then  as  an  individ- 
ual. I  tell  her  that  people  so  often  think 
that  they  are  ^^  different,'^  just  like  men 
who  are  suffering  from  imaginary  illnesses. 
Were  they  to  consider  that  that  happens 
to  almost  every  one,  their  sickness  would 
be  cured. 

February  17.  I  go  to  see  Wilhelmine 
between  two  and  three  o'clock.  Her 
sister  is  at  home.  When  she  finally 
leaves  for  her  women's  society  we  both 
watch  her  gratefully  from  the  window. 
There  are  people  whom  we  would 
rather  see  from  the  back  than  from 
the  front.  I  explain  to  Wilhelmine 
that  that   is  the  basis   of   Greek  love. 


/  am  Bored  51 

She  does  not  understand  how  a  person 
of  my  temperament  can  even  think  of 
such  things.  Then  we  talk  about  high 
hats.  When  I  want  to  calm  her  I 
always  speak  about  high  hats.  In  fact 
I  was  to  marry  her  in  a  slouch  hat, 
and  be  divorced  in  a  high  hat.  On 
leaving  her,  she  entreats  me,  if  I  have 
a  spark  of  feeling  for  her,  to  write 
some  poetry  to  her  before  tomorrow. 
We  are  to  go  to  Aarau  together  and  I 
am  to  read  my  verses  to  her  in  the 
train.  Gretchen  comes  for  her  music 
lesson.  Wilhelmine  pushes  me  quietly 
into  the  next  room,  and  she  has  such 
a  tight  hold  on  my  throat  that  I 
become  red  and  blue  in  the  face;  then 
with  the  motherly  quiet  of  a  madonna, 
she  turns  back  into  the  music  room, 
while  I  creep  out  of  the  house  on  tip- 
toe. 

After  supper  I  look  through  all  of 
my  poems  but  find  nothing  suitable. 
Then  I  stretch  out  on  the  divan;  how- 
ever I  cannot  concentrate  my  thoughts, 
and  I  fall  asleep. 


52  /  am  Bored 

February  18.  The  important  day! 
After  dinner  I  put  a  few  sheets  of  paper 
in  my  pocket,  hoping  that  on  the  way 
down  the  hill  some  sort  of  an  idea  will 
strike  me.  Wilhelmine  rushes  towards 
me  at  the  station  asking  me  for  my 
poem.  I  tell  her  that  I  cannot  read 
it  to  her  here,  and  I  take  her  to  an 
empty  bench  in  the  park  close  by. 
There  I  hand  her  the  folded  papers 
which  she  opens  with  pride  and  happi- 
ness. When  she  finds  that  the  pages 
are  blank,  I  tell  her  that  I  must  have 
left  the  poem  at  home  by  mistake. 
She  gives  me  a  savage  slap,  her  eyes 
sparkling  with  anger.  Thank  heavens, 
right  after  that  the  train  leaves.  In 
the  coupe  I  kiss  her  hand  uninterrupt- 
edly and  assure  her  of  my  honest  love  for 
her.  In  Aarau,  while  we  are  drinking 
our  beer  at  the  inn,  I  succeed  in  fully 
calming  her.  On  the  way  back  we  sit 
in  the  car  directly  behind  the  engine, 
and  our  coupe  lies  over  the  wheels. 
At  the  very  first  curve  we  are  tossed 
about,  and  I  hold  her  in  my  arms  just 


I  am  Bored  53 

as  three  years  ago,  on  the  very  same 
stretch  and  perhaps  in  the  same  coupe, 
I  held  the  Uttle,  red-haired  Deha. 
It  was  during  my  last  year  at  the  high 
school  in  Aarau;  and  every  morning 
and  evening  Delia  and  I  rode  back 
and  forth.  Now  she  is  a  teacher  some- 
where and  teaches  little  girls  to  be 
modest  and  virtuous.  The  difference 
is  quite  notable.  There,  blissful  sacri- 
fice; here,  still  uneasy  bashfulness.  But 
both  here  and  there  the  same  foolish 
side  remarks. 

In  spite  of  the  flickering  light  I  can 
see  the  down  on  Wilhelmine's  cheeks, 
and  some  scattered  freckles,  and  two 
wrinkles  at  the  eyes;  as  if  everything 
were  under  a  microscope,  five  hundred 
times  enlarged.  And  I  ask  myself  if 
the  most  delicate  teint  can  stand  such 
close  scrutiny.  I  do  not  try  to  converse 
any  more,  for  I  see  that  she  is  satisfied 
with  herself,  and  I  bring  her  home  in 
absolute  silence. 

February  19.  Wilhelmine  comes  to 
dinner;   but   immediately  after,  she   lies 


64  /  am  Bored 

down  on  my  divan  and  falls  asleep. 
When  she  awakens  she  tells  me  that  in 
some  ways  she  is  too  old  for  me,  and 
then  again  she  is  too  young  for  me;  I 
should  really  have  two  women,  one 
sixteen  years  old,  the  other  forty-six. 
Then  she  asks  me  to  go  to  her 
sister,  and  tell  her  that  she  cannot 
come  to  her  tomorrow  as  she  has  to 
give  the  town  clerk^s  daughter  a  music 
lesson.  I  go  there  and  Elisabeth  opens 
the  door  for  me.  That  suffices  to  make 
me  the  perfect  swain  for  the  rest  of 
the  evening.  Elisabeth  is  fifteen  years 
old,  and  a  bit  plump,  as  girls  at  this 
age  usually  are.  Her  hands  and  feet 
are  not  small,  yet  she  walks  with  a 
comfortable,  deliberate  gait.  Her  fea- 
tures are  full  and  glowing,  even  though 
they  are  timid;  and  dark  circles  shadow 
her  large,  blue  eyes.  Her  glance  con- 
fuses me  and  I  am  sorry  that  I  did 
not  address  a  kindly  word  to  her.  Her 
mother  receives  me  in  the  parlor.  It 
makes  a  rather  queer  impression  upon 
me   to   find   this   house,   which   I   have 


I  am  Bored  55 

not  visited  since  its  completion,  fully 
occupied.  The  younger  brothers  are 
racing  about,  running  after  the  depart- 
ing ash  cart.  The  mother  tells  me  with 
pride  and  delight  about  her  husband. 
The  old  man  comes  in;  he  still  pinches 
her  arm  as  a  sign  of  greeting.  On  my 
way  home  I  have  the  most  vivid  dreams 
of  marrying  the  little  creature,  of 
taking  her  out  into  the  world  on  trips 
and  adventures.  I  dream  of  the  honor- 
able president  of  the  court  as  my 
father-in-law,  of  Elisabeth  as  wife,  as 
mother,  and  as  a  matron  sitting  at  my 
side  with  our  children  and  grandchildren 
about  us. 

March  1.  There  is  a  light  snowfall, 
and  I  take  Wilhelmine  out  into  the 
woods  where  she  believes  she  is  follow- 
ing in  the  footsteps  of  her  father,  who 
has  gone  hunting.  The  festive  quiet, 
the  peace  of  the  dead  nature  about  us 
act  as  an  incentive  for  unending  love 
discourses.  If  I  were  a  painter  I  would 
marry  her  today.  For  a  writer  marriage 
with  her  would  spell  ruin.     She  yearns 


56  /  am  Bored 

to  really  love  once  more;  but  not  now, 
not  now,  perhaps  later.  Then  she 
asserts  that  even  if  I  wanted  to  have 
her  love  me  now  she  would  not  agree. 
Whereupon  I  begin  to  bully  her.  A 
half-hour  only,  just  as  far  as  from  here 
to  her  house,  and  I  could  make  her 
fall  madly  in  love  with  me.  She  sobs 
in  her  handkerchief.  I  tell  her  that  all 
I  need  is  to  give  idealism  free  rein; 
it  would  work  unfailingly  on  her  es- 
pecially as  she  knew  me  only  as  an 
idler.  She  entreats  me  to  take  her 
home.  Very  much  strengthened  I  re- 
turn. At  home  all  is  very  quiet.  I  go 
to  bed  early  and  long  to  be  in  Paris. 

March  9.  Wilhelmine  preaches  moral- 
ity. She  feels  that  she  has  been  the 
loser;  she  does  not  agree  with  herself; 
now  and  then  she  tells  herself  that  it 
is  wrong.  She  jumps  up  happily  and 
asks  me  to  tell  her  truthfully  what  she 
is  to  me.  But  why  does  she  want 
to  know?  I  tell  her  that  I  could  lie 
about  it.  Her  head  falls:  that  is  just 
the  sad  part;  that  is  how  I  hold  the 


/  am  Bored  S7 

whip  hand.  I  ask  her  why  she  started 
so  suddenly;  why  she  asked  anyway? 
She  says  that  she  would  feel  freer  if 
she  knew  for  certain.  I  say,  very  well, 
she  is  a  diversion  for  me.  She  looks 
beyond  me:  For  her  I  am  a  convenient 
plaything.  Perhaps,  too,  a  sort  of  mine, 
an  encyclopedia?  She  tells  me  that  I 
have  used  her  simply  as  I  would  vivi- 
sect a  rabbit.  But  why  all  this? 
She  feels  freer.  I  ask  her  if  she  does 
not  perhaps  feel  that  I  have  a  deeper 
feeling  for  her?  Oh,  no,  never!  She  has 
only  asked  me  for  her  own  satisfaction. 
Then  there  is  a  farewell  with  great 
affection.  Under  the  bridge  I  meet 
little  Elisabeth.  She  greets  me  with  a 
nod  that  makes  me  feel  better  all  over. 
I  acknowledge  her  greeting  as  respect- 
fully as  I  can.  I  do  not  dare  to  smile. 
I  fear  the  sharp  gaze  of  innocence. 
She  has  wonderful  lips  and  dark  blue 
eyes.  At  home,  up  on  the  sconce,  in 
the  beautiful  spring  air,  I  spend  an 
hour  in  the  best  of  humors.  The 
thrushes  have  begun  their  singing.     In 


68  /  am  Bored 

the  Black  Forest  and  on  the  Jura 
mountains  the  fires  have  been  hghted. 
A  tedious  evening  at  home! 

March  20.  After  I  have  breakfasted, 
for  the  first  time  again  in  two  weeks  I 
go  to  the  gymnastic  exercises  in  the 
girls'  school.  The  second  class  can 
boast  of  only  one  pretty  girl.  Her  face 
is  very  fine;  her  complexion  is  like 
milk,  and  she  has  black  eyes  and  a 
delicate  nose.  Beyond  suspicion  of 
cunningness  she  has  very  little  expres- 
sion. Her  foot  is  good  but  she  holds 
herself  badly.  In  the  third  and  fourth 
classes,  which  are  doing  their  exercises 
together,  there  is  only  one  worth  notic- 
ing, but  that  one  is  a  masterpiece. 
It  is  my  Elisabeth.  She  stands  very  near 
us.  A  well  filled  out  body,  a  healthy 
face,  fresh,  serious,  and  not  stupid. 
She  holds  herself  beautifully,  and  there 
is  a  certain  softness  in  her  motions. 
There  is  an  exquisite  charm  in  the 
round  dance  which  one  of  the  girls 
performs,      accompanied     by     the     old 


I  am  Bored  59 

teacher  who  is  playing  an  old-fashioned 
minuet. 

March  25.  Orsina  comes  up  after 
dinner.  She  has  again  written  a  lot 
of  poems  to  me.  Wilhelmine  is  very 
much  hurt.  I  console  her  by  showing 
that  I  appreciate  her  misery.  At  tea, 
I  am  so  enervated  that  I  throw  a  butter 
plate  at  Gretchen's  head.  She  weeps 
and  locks  herself  up  in  her  room. 
Whereupon  I  again  go  to  the  girls'  school, 
sit  down  opposite  EUsabeth,  and  use  a 
second  chair  to  lean  my  elbow  upon. 
With  all  of  this  I  wear  a  wry  face, 
partly  in  order  to  keep  any  people 
from  sitting  near  me,  partly  so  that  I 
can  stare  at  people  unabashed.  Any- 
way no  one  seems  to  feel  the  need  of 
sitting  near  me.  The  school  superin- 
tendents move  about  with  incredibly 
fooUsh  self-importance;  they  open  and 
close  the  large  blank  books,  and  exert 
themselves  without  ever  losing  their 
dignity  to  look  after  the  heating, 
EUsabeth  remains  perfectly  unconcerned 
although    she    must    have    noticed    my 


60  I  am  Bored 

actions.  She  knows  her  lessons  per- 
fectly. On  the  whole  the  questioning 
is  rather  repulsive  to  me,  especially 
the  holding  up  of  the  hands  which  is 
so  often  accompanied  by  poisonous 
glances.  I  pick  up  Elisabeth's  compo- 
sition book  and  happening  to  have  a 
pencil  in  my  hand,  write  my  feelings 
down  in  the  margin  as  notes.  Her 
books  are  none  too  clean;  the  penman- 
ship is  peculiar.  I  read  a  whole  com- 
position about  a  vacation  trip.  Then 
I  leave,  as  I  think,  with  effect;  but  it 
really  makes  no  difference  to  me  either 
way.  In  the  next  room  I  still  look  at 
her  geometrical  designs.  They  are  not 
any  too  geometrical.  I  am  already 
happy  over  the  fact  that  I  can  make  a 
fool  out  of  her.  The  thoughts  of 
marriage  have  disappeared.  The  old 
president  of  the  court  for  a  father-in- 
law  has  lost  all  fascination  for  me. 
In  the  evening  I  work  in  my  room  up  in 
the  tower.  Then  my  dear,  sweet  little 
cat  comes  and  meows  at  my  door.  As 
I  do  not  open  it  immediately  she  starts 


I  am  Bored  61 

scratching.  She  did  the  very  same  thing 
yesterday.  When  I  let  her  in  she  made 
straight  for  my  large  closet  which 
stands  against  the  wall  and  tried  to 
open  it  with  her  paws.  I  now  open  the 
door  and  she  goes  right  into  the  lowest 
compartment,  makes  herself  comfortable 
on  one  of  my  symbolistic  manuscripts 
and  purrs.  I  keep  the  door  ajar  so 
that  the  light  will  not  shine  on  her. 
After  awhile  she  begins  to  turn  and 
twist.  She  moves  about  here  and  there 
and  licks  herself.  Then  follows  a 
decided  stretching  of  her  body.  In  the 
meanwhile  she  snaps  at  the  roUed-up 
poems  on  the  side,  and  throws  the  first 
out  on  the  floor  with  her  mouth.  I 
hear  her  eating  something  and  see  how 
she  is  biting  at  it.  Five  times  she 
repeats  her  action.  The  accouchement 
lasts  a  full  hour.  After  she  has  thor- 
oughly cleaned  her  young  ones  they 
begin  to  meow.  I  get  my  mandolin 
and  play  them  one  of  Brahms'  lullabys. 
Now  it  is  half  past  three.  A  damp, 
fresh   wind   blows   in   through   the   win- 


62  /  am  Bored 

dow.  Throughout  the  castle  the  doors 
and  shutters  are  slamming  and  the 
rustling  of  the  linden  trees  sounds  like 
some  distant  fire. 


THE  BURNING  OF  EGLISWYL. 

In  the  canton  of  Aargau,  in  the  north- 
ern part  of  Switzerland,  there  are  more 
mountain  castles  than  there  are  farm- 
yards in  all  the  north  of  Germany. 
Every  mountain  top,  every  crest  is 
crowned  with  an  old  castle,  or  at  least 
a  ruin  of  one.  Within  the  circumfer- 
^ce  of  a  few  miles  there  are  the  castles 
Wildegg,  Habsburg,  Bruneck,  Casteln, 
Wildenstein,  Lenzburg,  Liebegg,  and 
Hallwyl.  My  father  bought  the  castles 
of  Lenzburg  when  I  was  eight  years  old. 
The  little  town  of  Lenzburg  had,  besides 
this  old  castle,  a  less  happy  place  of 
interest.  This  was  the  cantonal  prison, 
modeled  after  an  American  type.  And 
thus  when  the  landowners  of  the  sur- 
rounding country  have  any  heavy  labor 
to  be  performed,  they  hire  the  convicts, 
who  have  become  so  accustomed  to 
their  lot  that  they  almost  never  try  to 
escape.  And  among  them  there  are 
some    very    dangerous    criminals. 


64  The  Burning  of  Egliswyl 

In  the  year  1876  there  was  a  small 
landsUde  which  blocked  one  half  of  the 
street.  In  order  to  drain  the  place, 
pipes  had  to  be  laid  deep  under  the 
ground.  My  father  secured  a  number 
of  convicts  to  perform  the  undertaking. 
A  guard  accompanied  them.  Besides, 
my  father  was  always  on  hand.  As  the 
men  were  not  permitted  to  smoke,  he 
gave  them  chewing  tobacco.  One  day, 
a  long,  lead  pipe  was  needed  from  the 
village.  My  father  took  one  of  the 
prisoners  with  him  to  fetch  it.  I  met 
them  on  their  return  as  I  was  coming 
from  school.  The  three  of  us  walked 
slowly  up  the  hillside,  my  father  in  the 
middle. 

^^How  long  have  you  been  in  prison?" 
my  father  asked  the  convict. 
Seven  years." 

And     how     much     longer     is     your 
sentence?" 

^^ Eight  years." 

^^How    did    you    get    here?" 

^*  Arson." 


u 
u 


The  Burning  of  Egliswyl  65 


iC 


You  probably  had  debts,  and  wanted 
to  get  the  insurance  on  your  house? '^ 

^^I  never  owned  a  house,  and  never 
had  any  debts.  I  was  a  servant.  But 
— but — .'^  Then  he  told  his  story.  He 
was  born  and  committed  his  crime  in 
Egliswyl.  I  was  not  more  than  twelve 
years  old  at  the  time,  but  his  story 
made  such  an  impression  upon  me  that 
today,  twenty  years  afterwards,  I  can 
remember    it    word    for    word. 

^^Amrai's  Susan,''  began  the  prisoner, 
^Hhere  was  a  girl  for  you!  There  was 
nothing  lacking  in  her.  Every  man  in 
this  world  should  have  had  his  little 
fun  with  her.  She  was  the  bailiff's 
daughter,  and  the  whole  week  through 
she  was  washed  and  combed,  and  she 
wore  a  white  shirt.  I  was  only  farmer 
Suter's  hired  man  and  had  always  been 
boarded  at  the  expense  of  the  com- 
munity. I  never  knew  who  my  parents 
were.  In  fact,  I  knew  nothing  about 
men  and  women;  all  that  I  knew  was 
about  cattle:  why  they  were  on  earth 
and    how  old    they    were.      And    until 


66  The  Burning  of  Egliswyl 

Amrai's  Susan  told  me  that  her  father 
had  said  that  I  was  nineteen  years  old 
and  would  have  to  go  to  the  army  in 
two  years,  I  knew  nothing  about  myself. 
She  was  drawing  water  from  the  pump 
and  I  was  holding  Bethi  by  the  halter 
because  the  milk  boy  had  gone  into  the 
village.  She  looked  at  me  so  queerly 
that  I  turned  around  because  I  thought 
that  she  was  perhaps  talking  about  Bethi. 
^You  are  nineteen  years  old/  I  said  to 
Bethi  when  I  tied  her  up  for  the  night. 
And  from  that  moment  I  had  a  strange 
feeling. 

^^Amrai^s  Susan  was  the  first.  As 
far  back  as  I  can  remember  I  had  never 
dared  to  look  at  her  squarely.  I  don't 
think  I  could  have  done  it  even  in  a 
dream.  I  used  to  look  at  her  only 
when  her  back  was  turned.  And  now 
she  made  such  big  eyes.  The  next 
evening  she  told  me  that  I  should  come 
to  the  ^Egli'  on  the  following  Sunday. 
I  told  her  that  I  had  no  money  but 
she  said  that  made  no  difference.  So  on 
Sunday  I  went  to  the 'Egh' and  watched 


The  Burning  of  Egliswyl  67 

them  dancing  from  the  doorway. 
Then  Amrai's  Susan  came  with  her 
Uttle  friend  Marianne  and  they  drew 
me  into  the  hall.  First  Marianne  had 
to  dance  with  me.  At  the  beginning 
it  was  hard;  I  did  not  hold  her  tight, 
but  she  was  so  clever  that  by  the  time 
we  had  made  three  turns  we  were  doing 
as  well  as  any  of  the  others.  And  then 
I  felt  that  something  strange  was  going 
on  within  me.  After  a  while  Amrai^s 
Susan  let  her  partner  go  and  took  me, 
hot  as  I  was,  out  of  Marianne's  arms 
and  danced  with  me  until  it  grew  dark. 
When  there  was  an  intermission  she 
gave  me  a  glass  of  wine  to  keep  me 
cool.  After  that  I  held  her  so  close 
that  her  shoulders  were  bent  back  and 
she  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  her 
feet.  After  the  dance  she  took  me 
with  her  by  the  hand.  Marianne 
started  a  fuss  because  no  one  was 
going  with  her.  I  took  my  shoes  off 
in  the  street  and  left  them  at  the  pump. 
The  bailiff  was  taking  his  grog  at  the 
^Egh.'     There   were   two   roses    painted 


68  The  Burning  of  Egliswyl 

on  her  bed.  When  I  came  back  to 
the  stable  and  saw  our  five  cows  sleep- 
ing in  a  row,  I  said  to  myself,  ^It  is 
all  the  same;  man  or  beast !^ 

^^  Every  night  I  climbed  in  and  out 
of  Susan's  window.  But  then  there 
was  Veronica,  farmer  Loser's  daughter, 
a  proud  creature,  and  the  first  girl  in 
the  whole  village.  On  Sundays  she  and 
her  comrades  would  go  up  the  main 
street  in  the  village  all  in  a  row,  so 
that  no  carriage  could  pass  them.  And 
when  a  young  fellow  would  come  along, 
all  seven  of  them  would  stare  at  him 
until  he  had  passed  by;  and  once  he 
was  gone  they  would  laugh  so  that 
they  could  be  heard  way  up  in  the 
church.  Veronica  had  had  a  lover  now 
for  a  year.  But  Ruodi  Weber  had  been 
consumptive  since  the  fall.  Now  he 
could  only  dance  three  dances  no  matter 
how  much  wine  he  had  drunk  at  the 
^Egli.'  Then  he  would  rest  his  elbows 
on  the  table  and  not  say  a  word.  Thus 
when  Veronica  saw  me  dance  all  night  with 
Susan,  without  resting  at  all,  she  begged 


The  Burning  of  Egliswyl  69 

Susan  to  let  her  have  a  dance  with  me. 
Susan  didn't  want  to  but  I  did,  and 
so  I  danced  with  her.  Susan  ran  out- 
side and  wept.  And  Veronica  laughed; 
and  I  felt  how  warm  she  was.  She 
was  as  solid  as  if  she  had  been  fed  for 
the  butcher.  If  she  had  been  a  three 
year  old  heifer  I'd  have  given  twenty 
napoleons  for  her.  We  went  home  arm 
in  arm. 

^'When  the  clock  struck  one  there 
was  a  knock  outside  her  window. 
^That's  Ruodi  Weber/  she  said,  and 
got  up  and  went  to  the  window  to  bid 
him  good  night  so  that  he  would  not 
get  the  stable  men.  Then  she  told  me 
that  I  ought  not  go  with  Susan  any 
longer,  and  because  I  liked  her  so  well 
I  told  her  that  I  wouldn't.  But  the 
next  day  I  felt  as  if  I  ought  to  go  and 
see  Susan  anyway.  And  I  went  to  see 
her  that  night  and  told  her  everything. 
Then  she  said  that  she  was  not  like 
Veronica;  as  far  as  she  was  concerned 
I  could  go  with  any  one  I  cared  about, 
excepting  one,  her  little  friend  Marianne. 


70  The  Burning  of  Egliswyl 

And  because  Susan  was  so  good  I  said 
that  I  would  do  as  she  said.  But  the 
next  day  I  thought  it  was  mean  of 
Susan  to  have  told  me  not  to  go  with 
Marianne. 

^^But  then  when  our  Muni  was  being 
shod  on  account  of  the  ice,  Marianne 
came  to  the  smithy^s  to  say  that  her 
father  was  coming  to  get  a  potion  for 
the  bailiff's  sick  horse.  Then  I  asked 
her  whether  I  might  come  and  see  her. 
Marianne  stood  there  as  if  rooted  to  the 
spot  and  gazed  at  the  glowing  coals; 
then  she  went  softly  up  the  stairs. 

^^At  the  ^Egli'  on  Sunday,  there  was 
a  fight  between  big  Veronica  and  Susan. 
I  danced  the  whole  afternoon  with 
Marianne.  And  when  the  dance  was 
over,  they  made  up,  and  the  four  of 
us  walked  home  together.  They  kept 
me  in  the  middle  for  they  were  afraid 
that  I  would  run  away.  And  thus  we 
went  through  the  village  on  the  follow- 
ing Sunday,  and  the  boys  cursed  and 
swore,  and  the  girls  who  were  with 
them  laughed,  but    stared    at    me    be- 


The  Burning  of  Egliswyl  71 

cause  I  was  walking  with  the  three 
prettiest  girls  in  the  village.  Neither 
Veronica,  Susan,  nor  Marianne  looked 
to  the  left  or  right.  They  talked  among 
themselves,  however,  and  laughed  so 
loud  that  they  could  be  heard  all  over 
the  village.  The  pastor  who  was  com- 
ing along  at  this  time  pretended  to  see 
nothing.  He  looked  at  me,  however, 
and  I  thought  he  was  jealous. 

'^Marianne  loved  me  so  much  that 
she  gave  me  a  pipe.  I  showed  it  to 
Susan  and  she  gave  me  a  large  fur 
cap.  Then  I  showed  the  cap  to 
Veronica  and  she  gave  me  a  silver 
watch. 

^^And  thus  it  happened  that  when 
the  summer  came  around  there  was  not 
a  girl  who  danced  at  the  ^Egli,'  or  one 
who  went  to  the  spinning  room  with 
whom  I  had  not  spent  the  night. 
During  the  day  I  worked  well  and  it 
pleased  farmer  Suter.  Every  one  won- 
dered at  how  I  had  filled  out  in  the 
last  year.  My  shoulders  were  so  broad 
that  one  could   have  hitched  me  to   a 


72  The  Burning  of  Egliswyl 

plow.  My  arms  were  well  developed 
too,  and  I  had  grown  very  smart  with 
it  all!  ^Now  he^s  ready  for  the  re- 
cruits/ said  farmer  Suter,  ^and  they'll 
not  send  him  back.' 

'^It  was  midsummer.  One  night 
when  I  opened  the  stable  door  I  found 
farmer  Suter's  wife  standing  there. 
^  Where  are  you  going,  Hans?'  ^  Is 
that  anyj  of  your  business?'  '  I'll  tell 
farmer  Suter!'  Then  I  went  back  into 
the  stable.  Farmer  Suter's  wife  was 
fifty-three,  and  her  face  was  all  wrinkled. 
I  suddenly  turned  back  and  said  to 
her :  '  If  you  tell  farmer  Suter  that 
I  go  out  at  night,  I'll  tell  him  that  you 
did  it  once  too.'  She  never  came  to 
the  stable  again  and  I  went  where  I 
pleased. 

^^Then  came  haying  time,  then  the 
harvest,  and  then  the  vintage;  and  it 
was  during  vintage  time  that  the  good 
Lord  punished  me,  and  made  me  an 
incendiary.  It  was  over  there,  at 
Castle  Wildegg.  Because  the  vine 
dresser  himseK  came  from  Egliswyl,  he 


The  Burning  of  Egliswyl  73 

took  all  of  his  help  from  that  village. 
It  was  a  rich  year,  the  last  year  that  I 
carried  the  grapes.  The  vintage  lasted 
three  days.  There  were  seven  of  us 
men,  and  twenty  women  folks.  On  the 
third  day,  in  the  evening,  the  owner  of 
the  castle  brought  a  gypsy  along  with 
him.  He  had  a  fiddle,  and  we  danced 
on  the  grass  in  the  castle  courtyard. 
The  grooms  strung  lanterns,  and  then 
the  maids  also  came  out  to  dance. 
There  was  one  —  she  was  the  chamber- 
maid —  who  came  from  Suabia.  She 
was  slim  and  short;  but  her  eyes  sank 
into  my  flesh  so  that  were  I  to  see  them 
today  I  would  recognize  them.  I  had 
only  one  dance  with  her,  but  when  we 
were  leaving  I  met  her  coming  along 
singing,  arm  in  arm  with  the  fat  cook. 
I  heard  that  singing  all  night,  as  I 
lay  in  the  stable  gazing  into  the  lantern 
light.  The  next  evening  I  went  to 
Wildegg  again  to  get  a  basket  that  had 
been  forgotten;  and  then  the  little  maid 
came  down  into  the  lower  courtyard 
with   me   and   gave   me   her   mouth   to 


74  The  Burning  of  Egliswyl 

kiss.  When  I  left  her  I  felt  it  here,  in 
my  breast;  that  is  where  it  hurt,  and 
I  did  not  know  what  the  matter  was 
as  I  had  never  been  ill  before. 

'^The  next  evening  I  again  went  to 
see  her,  and  I  asked  her  whether  I 
might  stay  with  her  until  morning,  but 
she  said  no.  Then  I  wept.  For  three 
days  I  could  do  no  work.  Farmer  Suter 
said:  'What's  the  matter  with  Hans? 
He  doesn't  eat,  drink,  or  work  any 
more.'  Then  I  went  down  again  that 
night  to  Wildegg.  At  every  step  I  felt 
better.  The  castle  gate  was  closed  and 
everything  was  dark.  There  I  sat  until 
morning  and  did  not  return  to  Eglis- 
wyl; I  hired  myself  out  down  in  the 
village.  Every  evening  when  it  grew 
dark  I  went  up  there,  and  if  I  but  saw 
a  corner  of  her  apron  I  felt  better. 
During  the  week  I  drove  with  a  load  of 
wood  to  Lenzburg.  There  I  bought  a 
ring  so  that  I  would  have  something 
to  give  her  the  next  time  we  met. 
She  laughed  when  I  gave  it  to  her,  and 
she  offered  me  her  mouth  to  kiss.    Then 


The  Burning  of  Egliswyl  75 

she  told  me  that  I  might  come  the  day 
after  next,  when  it  was  dark.  And 
when  I  was  going  down  the  mountain  I 
said  to  myself:  ^Up  there  lies  Eghswyl,  and 
now  you  are  a  good  man;  now  you  will 
succeed  in  life/  Until  I  again  saw 
Marie  —  that  was  her  name  —  I  worked 
as  no  farm  hand  ever  worked  before. 
And  while  working  I  thought:  ^When 
you  come  back  from  the  army  you'll 
carry  every  penny  to  the  savings  bank 
until  you  have  enough  to  buy  some 
land  and  build  a  little  cottage.  Then 
you'll  go  up  to  the  castle  and  ask  Marie 
to  marry  you.  And  if  she  says  no,  then 
you'll  go  to  America  and  never  wed. 
But  Marie  will  not  say  no;  that  would 
not  be  right,  for  if  she  did  not  want 
you  she  ought  to  tell  you  so  immedi- 
ately, and  not  ask  you  to  come  and  see 
her  again.'  Morning  and  evening  I 
said  the  same  to  myself;  and  I  said  to 
the  cows:  'You  don't  understand  such 
things.  That  is  just  the  difference 
between  man  and  beast,' 


76  The  Burning  of  Egliswyl 

'^And  now  I  have  pondered  over  it 
for  seven  years,  and  still  I  do  not  know 
what  brought  me  down  there  to  the 
prison,  making  me  miss  the  best  years 
of  a  man's  life.  Marie  was  a  flighty 
little  thing,  and  when  we  had  made  love 
for  three  weeks  down  in  the  lower 
courtyard,  under  the  cliffs,  and  in  the 
cold  snow,  she  wanted  to  go  where  it 
was  warmer,  and  I  was  not  sorry. 
Then  she  showed  me  where  I  could 
clamber  up  the  rocks  to  the  little  room 
where  she  slept  alone.  One  night,  when 
it  was  striking  midnight  down  in  the  vil- 
lage, I  climbed  up  to  her,  trembling  for 
fear  lest  a  stone  should  roll  down  among 
the  bushes  and  awaken  the  castle  folks. 
Marie  softly  opened  and  closed  her 
window.  Then  for  an  hour  not  a  word 
was  spoken.  And  when  I  left  her  she 
was  the  same  as  when  I  had  come. 

^^I  dashed  down  over  the  cliffs.  I 
had  no  more  feeling  in  my  hands  or 
feet;  and  my  throat  felt  as  though  the 
hangman's  noose  were  around  it.  And 
I  felt  it  in  my  chest,  in  my  back,  and 


The  Burning  of  Egliswyl  77 

in  between:  as  if  my  insides  were  being 
torn  out.  And  I  felt  poison  surging 
through  my  veins.  At  first  I  wanted 
to  drown  myself,  but  then  I  thought: 
^No!  What  does  she  think  of  me!  What 
does  she  think  of  me!  She  did  not 
cry  and  she  did  not  laugh.  She  was  as 
if  frozen.'  And  then  I  thought  of 
Amrai's  Susan,  of  Veronica,  of  Marianne. 
^It  is  their  fault,'  I  said  to  myself,  Mt 
is  their  fault.'  It  was  not,  though,  and 
I  knew  it,  but  I  said  so  to  myself  as  I 
ran  hither  and  thither  through  the 
streets  of  Egliswyl.  I've  been  pretty 
bad  at  times  during  my  seven  years 
here,  so  bad  that  I  have  screamed  and 
rolled  on  the  ground  until  they  locked 
me  up  in  a  place  where  there  was 
neither  light  nor  air.  But  at  such  times 
I  used  to  think  back  to  that  night,  and 
then  I'd  say  to  myself:  'They  can  do 
what  they  want  with  you  here,  for 
there  is  no  suffering  in  God's  world  as 
great  as  what  you  went  through  on  that 
night,  and  that,  at  least,  is  behind  you.' 
Had  some  one  tied  me  to  a  bench  and 


78  The  Burning  of  Egliswyl 

beaten  me  at  that  time  I  would  have 
thanked  him  for  it.  But  there  was  no 
one.  I  came  down  the  mountain  side. 
I  howled  and  shrieked  like  an  animal 
in  a  slaughter  house.  And  all  I  could 
see  was  flames,  which  always  grew 
hotter.  It  was  as  if  I  were  in  a  burn- 
ing house.  Wherever  I  looked  hot 
flames  beat  into  my  face.  And  the 
ground  was  so  hot,  in  spite  of  the  snow 
that  had  fallen,  that  I  could  not  stand 
still  on  one  spot.  And  thus  it  drove  me 
on.  At  first  I  did  not  know  what  to 
do,  but  then  suddenly  I  knew.  And 
then  I  felt  better;  but  I  kept  on  run- 
ning for  I  thought  that  the  new  day 
would  break  before  I  had  done  it.  I 
still  saw  nothing  but  flames.  All  the 
trees  were  crackling.  It  was  the  bis- 
wind.  ^  It  has  come  just  at  the  right 
time,^  I  thought.  ^  You  must  start  in 
that  corner  where  the  wind  comes 
from  so  that  it  will  spread  well.  The 
fire  hydrant  is  frozen  too,^  I  thought. 
'  That  is  fine,  that  is  fine!'  When  I  came 
to  the  village  of  Egliswyl  I  crept  around 


The  Burning  of  Egliswyl  79 

the  left  side  of  it,  for  it  was  from  there 
that  the  wind  was  blowing;  and  I  crept 
into  five  houses,  right  up  under  the 
straw  roofs.  The  third  house  belonged 
to  farmer  Leser,  and  I  thought  of 
Veronica  and  hoped  that  she  would 
burn  up  too.  Then  I  set  fire  to  it. 
Now  I  ran  back.  When  I  came  to  the 
woods  there  was  a  good  blaze,  and  my 
heart  grew  warm  in  it.  I  was  still  in 
the  middle  of  the  woods  when  the  fire 
bells  began  ringing  in  the  little  town 
of  Lenzburg;  and  on  the  Stanfberg, 
and  over  in  Amriswyl.  And  then  it 
went  bum,  bum!  That  was  the  fireman 
on  the  castle  of  Lenzburg  who  had  shot 
off  the  cannon.  When  I  came  out  of  the 
woods  the  heavens  in  back  of  me  were 
red,  and  I  could  hear  the  swishing  of 
the  fire  hose  down  on  the  highway. 
'They  can  sprinkle  a  long  while,'  I 
thought, '  without  any  water ' ;  and  I  kept 
on  running  down  towards  Wildegg. 
I  clambered  up  the  rocks,  I  don't 
know  how,  and  knocked  softly  at  the 
window.     Marie  came. 


80  The  Burning  of  Egliswyl 

^'^Let  me  in/  I  cried.  ^Open, 
Marie!' 

*'  Then  she  opened  the  window. 

'^^Do  you  know  that  it's  burning?' 

^^  'What  is  burning?  Where  is  it  burn- 
ing?' 

'^ '  Do  you  see,  over  there?  The 
heavens  are  burning.' 

'^'Oh,  my  God!' 

'^'It  is  burning!  The  village  is  burn- 
ing! The  village  of  Egliswyl  is  burning! 
And  I  did  it!  See  how  it  lights  up.  I 
set  fire  to  five  corners  of  it,  Marie! 
Look  look!* 

''But  she  was  still  like  ice.  It  did 
not  seem  to  move  her.  Her  face  was 
white.  She  dressed  hurriedly  and  awoke 
the  whole  castle,  and  she  told  them 
that  she  knew  who  had  set  fire  to 
Egliswyl.  Then  she  pointed  to  me. 
It  was  I,  she  said.  I  had  wanted  to 
hide  in  her  room,  but  she  despised  me 
too  much.  Then  they  brought  a 
straight  jacket;  I  was  still  standing  at 
the  window,  enjoying  the  crimson  heav- 
ens.    They  took  me  down  to  the  court- 


The  Burning  of  Egliswyl  81 

yard.  Marie  was  there.  She  did  not 
laugh  —  I  am  sure  of  that  —  yet  I  do 
not  know  why  she  didn't/^ 

We  had  arrived  at  the  top  of  the  hill 
by  this  time,  at  the  place  where  the 
landslide  had  occurred.  Over  there, 
but  an  hour  away,  lay  the  castle  of 
Wildegg  bathed  in  the  afternoon  sun- 
light. Perhaps  my  father  would  have 
liked  to  have  sent  me  away  during  the 
story,  but  there  had  been  no  excuse 
for  doing  so.  The  convict  stretched 
his  bony  body  and  placed  the  lead 
pipe  on  the  grass. 

Perhaps  my  father  may  have  thought 
that  I  did  not  understand  what  the 
prisoner  was  talking  about.  And,  in 
fact,  my  understanding  of  it  did  not 
come  until  much,  much  later.  And 
by  that  time  the  prisoner  must  have 
been  released. 


LES  HALLES. 

September  8.  I  awaken  about  four 
o^clock.  The  curtains  are  still  drawn 
and  the  room  is  pitch  dark.  I  light 
the  lights  and  rise  slowly.  After  yester- 
day ^s  fatigue  I  feel  like  a  new  man; 
there  is  a  peculiar  movement  in  my 
joints,  my  head  seems  freer,  and  I  am 
sure  that  my  body  is  twenty  pounds 
lighter. 

When  I  go  out  on  the  street  it  is 
sunset.  I  walk  to  my  little  restaurant, 
buy  MaeterUnck^s  Princesse  Malaine 
under  the  Odeon,  and  read  it  through 
at  the  cafe.  Had  he  given  his  spirits 
more  flesh,  they  would  probably  have 
lived  longer.  I  dine  at  the  Palais 
Royal  and  work  at  home  until  mid- 
night. 

As  I  come  out  of  the  Brasserie  Pont- 
Neuf  a  girl  in  a  long  coat  passes  me; 
she  reminds  me  of  Marie  Louise,  but 
it   is   not   she. 


Les  Holies  83 

I  go  to  Bovy  to  find  out  something 
about  Raimonde.  The  only  face  I 
know  in  the  little  place  is  that  of  Marie 
Louise.  She  asks  me  to  buy  her  a  glass 
of  milk  and  tells  me  that  yesterday, 
on  the  terrace  of  the  Cafe  d^Harcourt, 
a  girl  had  poisoned  herself  with  subli- 
mate. She  tells  me  that  Raimonde  is  still 
in  the  Quartier,  and  that  she  is  dans 
la  puree.  She  has  forty  thousand  francs' 
worth  of  debts.  That  fills  me  with  an 
enormous  satisfaction. 

I  ask  her  if  she  still  takes  morphine. 
No,  she  stopped  a  long  while  ago.  She 
then  opens  her  coat  and  shows  me  that 
she  has  got  rid  of  her  burden.  She  had 
been  in  the  hospital  for  three  weeks  on 
account  of  her  miscarriage;  and  it  was 
there  that  she  had  broken  herself  of  the 
morphine  habit.  She  really  looks  much 
the  better  for  it.  She  does  not  rouge 
any  more,  sleeps  like  a  child  at  night, 
and  when  she  awakens  is  no  more 
beset  by  morbid  thoughts.  She  al- 
ways reads  before  turning  out  her  lights. 
Now  she  is  reading  La  Faute  de  VAbhe 


84  Les  Holies 

Mouret.  She  had  never  beUeved  that 
Zola  could  have  written  such  a  pretty 
book.  Before  this  she  had  begun  L'As- 
somoiTy  but  had  found  it  in  bad  taste 
and  tedious.  She  herself  could  write 
a  thing  like  that  if  she  only  had  the 
time! 

In  the  meanwhile,  a  girl,  to  whom 
six  months  before  I  had  given  a  louis- 
d'or,  presses  close  to  me.  I  have  for- 
gotten her  name.  At  that  time  she  was 
in  black;  now  she  is  wearing  a  brand 
new,  light  dress,  with  a  blue  silk  yoke. 
I  had  given  her  one  of  my  fine  figured 
shirts;  after  that  she  took  up  Gon- 
court's  La  Fille  Elisa,  which  little 
Germaine  had  loaned  to  me,  read  it  all 
night,  and  then  ran  away.  She  would 
have  hked  to  have  taken  the  shirt  too. 
But  I  must  have  promised  a  diamond 
ring  instead. 

She  has  a  round,  pale  face,  with 
rather  full  cheeks,  a  pretty  chin,  a 
fine  retrousse  nose,  well-formed  lips, 
narrow,  updrawn  eyebrows,  and  very 
sympathetic,  black  eyes. 


Les  Holies  85 

Since  she  is  very  elegantly  gowned, 
let  me  state  that  she  has  won  a  personal 
victory.  She  does  not  Uve  at  the  Hotel 
Voltaire  in  the  Rue  de  Seine  any  longer, 
but  in  the  Rue  St.  Sulpice,  on  the  first 
floor. 

I  ask  her  whether  she  will  have  any- 
thing to  drink.     No,  she  is  not  thirsty. 

I  have  never  seen  such  a  pretty  little 
room. 

It  is  all  furnished  in  flowered  cre- 
tonne, and  the  bed  hangings  are  of  the 
same  material. 

The  girl  in  the  corn-colored  dress 
with  the  blue  yoke  fits  into  the  sur- 
roundings so  beautifully,  that  in  this 
little  room  I  feel  myself  away  from  the 
world,  from  sin,  extravagance,  danger, 
and  duty. 

She  asks  me  whether  I  would  care 
to  have  a  chartreuse;  and  she  takes  out 
a  cut  glass  bottle  and  fills  two  glasses. 

The  chartreuse  is  the  color  of  liquid 
gold  and  runs  like  mad  through  the 
veins.  Over  our  glasses  we  discuss  her 
"colleagues. '^ 


86  Les  Holies 

She  does  not  know  whether  Lulu 
and  Nini  still  like  each  other;  perhaps 
they  do — why  not?  Lulu  lived  in  her 
own  room — really  nothing  but  a  little 
hole — just  a  bit  of  a  room.  But  she 
told  every  one  she  met  that  she  had  an 
apartment.  Lulu  was  the  domineering 
and  intelligent  one,  while  Nini  had 
very  little  to  say  and  could  only  as- 
sociate with  the  men  whom  Lulu  chose 
for   her.     Did   I   know   Lulu? 

I  answer  that  I  do  not,  and  foolishly 
add  that  it  is  not  my  fault  that  I  do 
not. 

Then  we  talk  about  Raimonde.  Yes, 
there  is  a  woman  for  you!  She  had 
seen  me  with  her  on  that  memorable 
night  at  the  Grand  Comptoir.  How 
much  one  of  her  kind  would  cost! 

In  order  to  atone  for  my  former  slip, 
I  say  fifteen  francs. 

Pas  plus  que  ca? 

No,  and  she  had  to  beg  for  that. 

Whether    I    like    Raimonde? 

I  earnestly  shake  my  head,  and  say, 
^^C^est  une  belle  femme!^' 


Les  Halles  87 

While  we  are  talking  I  see  a  deck  of 
cards  on  the  table.  I  ask  her  whether 
she  can  tell  fortunes,  and  she  tells  me 
that  she  will  dire  la  bonne  aventure. 
The  process  takes  a  good  half -hour. 
We  sit  down  opposite  to  one  another  and 
she  tells  me  many  things  about  my  mother 
and  my  sisters;  about  a  lot  of  gold 
which  I  am  to  inherit  from  a  blond  man 
whom    I    recognize    as    my    publisher. 

An  hour  later  she  suddenly  becomes 
gay  and  suggests  that  we  go  the  halles 
a  bit,  un  pen  vadrouiller.  It  was  so 
warm  outside  and  so  close  here  in  the 
room.  My  entreaties  are  of  no  avail. 
I  rise  slowly-;  we  dash  down  one  more 
glass  of  chartreuse  and  then  we  go 
through  the  gray  dawn  over  the  Pont- 
Neuf  toward  the  halles.  She  wants  to 
have  a  soupe  au  frontage  at  the  Grand 
Comptoir.  There  will  probably  be  a 
lot   of   people   there. 

But  there  is  neither  music,  nor  a  lot 
of  people.  A  few  lonely  grisettes  oc- 
cupy the  rear  of  the  place.  My  com- 
panion   orders   her    soup;    I    call   for    a 


88  Les  Holies 

bottle  of  wine,  and  we  are  quite  silent. 
Then  the  waiter  asks:  ^^Des  ecr hisses? 
line  douzaine  de  Marenesf  Un  demi 
poulet?^^  She  shakes  her  head  three 
times,  and  the  waiter  leaves.  That 
almost  moves  me  to  tears.  I  call  him 
back  and  ask  him  to  bring  two  dozen 
oysters;  and  while  we  are  eating  them, 
I  tell  her  that  we  ought  to  go  to 
Barat's  for   our   coffee. 

The  lights  are  out  already  at  Barat's. 
The  musicians  who  sit  opposite  us  are 
eating  their  supper.  She  asks  me  how 
I  like  the  woman  there,  and  I  reply 
that  she  looks  too  much  like  a  cocotte. 
Then  she  asks  me  whether  I  think  that 
she  looks  like  a  cocotte.  I  pay  her 
some  compliment,  and  then  she  asks 
me  whether  I  think  that  Raimonde 
looks  like  a  cocotte.  I  reply:  '^Mais 
c^est  une  belle  femme!^^  After  which 
she   says:  ^^Tu  Vaimes  a  la  folier^ 

I  drink  four  or  five  cups  of  coffee 
and  would  like  more,  but  it  is  too  ex- 
pensive here.  They  charge  one  franc 
per  portion.     So  I  propose  that  we  go  to 


Les  Holies  89 

the  Chien  qui  fume.  She  has  never 
heard  of  the  place.  I  tell  her  that  it 
is  close  by.  And,  in  the  morning  glow, 
we  wander  through  the  endless  stalls 
of  cauliflowers  and  beets  to  the  Chien 
qui  fume.  We  climb  up  the  winding 
staircase  to  the  salon,  sit  down  at  the 
window,  and  the  busy  Ufe  of  the  holies 
lies  at  our  feet. 

We  soon  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that 
there  is  nothing  more  amusing  than  to 
watch  other  people  at  work. 

In  order  to  appreciate  everything 
fully,  instead  of  ordering  coffee  again, 
I  tell  the  waiter  to  bring  us  oysters 
and  a  good  bottle  of  wine. 

We  talk  about  the  Duke  of  Leuchten- 
berg,  about  whose  eyes  my  little  friend 
raves;  and  I  describe  the  magnificent 
tomb  that  he  has  in  the  Michoels- 
Kirche  in  Munich.  She  thinks  he  was 
Napoleon's  brother-in-law,  while  I  am 
of  the  opinion  that  he  was  his  step-son. 
Neither  of  us  is  sure  of  our  point. 

She  has  recently  read  a  book — she 
has  forgotten  the  author's  name — which 


90  Les  Holies 

treats  of  the  various  mistresses  of  the 
French  Court,  from  Diana  de  Poitiers 
up  to  the  beautiful  Therese.  So  we 
chat  about  Mme.  DuBarry,  Mme.  de 
Maintenon,  Mme.  de  Pompadour,  Mme. 
de  Sevignee,  Mme.  de  Stael;  about  Adele 
Courtois,  Cora  Pearl,  Guilia  Barucci, 
Anna  Deslions,  and  finally  reach  Pope 
Joan. 

Then  we  talk  about  culinary  delights, 
about  the  various  restaurants  in  the 
Quartier,  and  those  a  V autre  cote  de 
VEou.  There  is  nothing  to  the  little 
restaurants  with  yrix  fixes.  One  gets 
a  long  dinner  but  very  little  to  eat. 
I  bow  to  her  views  for  I  feel  the  same 
as  she  does  about  it.  Like  me,  she  can 
digest  only  green  vegetables.  Excepting 
asparagus,  she  likes  brussels  sprouts 
best  of  all.  Cauliflower  is  too  insipid. 
Again  I  agree  with  her.  We  talk  about 
strawberries  and  about  pineapples;  and 
we  gradually  become  one  heart  and 
soul.  When  she  leaves  me  for  a  mo- 
ment I  tell  the  waiter  to  bring  a  bottle 
of   pommery. 


Les  Holies  91 

A  mild  sunshine  lies  over  the  holies. 
The  people  are  hurrying  about  like 
ants.  The  high  heaps  of  cauliflowers 
and  beets  have  already  disappeared — 
perhaps  they  are  already  eaten.  I  feel 
especially  well. 

My  companion  seems  to  come  from 
a  good  family.  Everything  about  her 
seems  to  point  that  way.  She  again 
takes  her  seat  opposite  me  and  raises 
her  glass  to  her  lips  in  a  manner  that 
could  not  be  emulated  in  the  best 
society.  She  comes  from  Normandie, 
from  Falaise.  I  know  the  place  well 
enough.  She  has  also  read  Maupas- 
sant ^s  Moison  Tellier,  but  turns  the  con- 
versation away  from  it.  She  tells  me 
that  she  has  a  wealthy  married  sister 
in  Falaise  who  comes  to  Paris  every 
winter,  but  she  never  sees  her.  She 
herself  is  waiting  for  some  forty  thou- 
sand francs,  which  she  will  get  when  she 
comes  of  age.  Probably  she  will  buy 
new  gowns  at  once,  and  within  three 
months  all  will  be  gone.  She  does  not 
seem  to  have  the  slightest  desire  to  go 


92  Les  Holies 

back  into  respectable  society.  She  says 
that  she  could  never  again  fit  into  the 
life  in  Falaise,  where  they  retire  at 
eight  and  rise  at  seven;  where,  neither 
in  summer  nor  winter  do  they  go  the 
cafes,  and  where  they  never  think  of 
un  peu  vadrouiller.  I  propose  that  when 
she  comes  into  her  money  she  should 
take  me  for  her  special  friend.  I  bring 
my  good  qualities  to  her  notice,  my 
happy  disposition  and  my  general  ease. 
She  laughs  and  says  that  I  am  richer 
than  she.  I  shake  my  head  and  tell  her 
that  I  have  no  thirty  of  forty  thousand 
francs  to  look  forward  to.  Very  well! 
She  will  agree  if  I  am  willing  to  go 
through  all  I  have  with  her  now;  all  I 
have  to  do  is  to  put  it  on  the  table. 

I  look  at  the  clock  and  think  that  it 
has  stopped.  The  waiter  tells  us  that 
it  is  half  past  twelve.  We  are  both 
terribly  surprised.  Now  we  really  must 
have  some  dejeuner. 

She  wants  to  fix  her  hair  in  front  of 
the  mirror  but  she  connot  see  herself, 
for  it  is  covered,  from  top  to  bottom, 


Les  Holies  93 

with  inscriptions,  and  there  is  not  even 
enough  room  left  for  a  postage  stamp. 
Then  she  asks  for  my  diamond.  I  give 
her  my  shirt  stud,  but  it  does  not 
write,  and  I  tell  her  that  I  must  have 
it  sharpened  again. 

On  account  of  the  glaring  sun  we  go 
down  through  the  holies,  paying  special 
attention  to  the  flower  stalls.  Roses 
from  the  most  delicate  white  to  the 
deepest  red  lie  in  profusion  on  either 
side.  Greedily  I  inhale  the  intoxicating 
odor. 

It  is  nice  and  cool  in  the  Grond 
Comptoir.  The  waiter,  who  remembers 
having  seen  us  but  ten  hours  before, 
falls  flat  on  his  stomach  in  awe.  We 
both  feel  the  need  of  something  re- 
freshing so  we  really  eat  more  from  a 
feeling  of  duty  than  anything  else.  We 
agree  on  a  Poulet-Moyonnoise,  a  huge 
portion  of  salad,  a  basket  of  peaches 
and  pears,  and  a  light  bottle  of  white 
wine.  We  will  have  our  coffee  in  the 
Quartier. 


94  Les  Holies 

While  she  is  peehng  a  peach  with 
her  beautiful  fingers  she  asks  me  how 
she  looks,  and  I,  of  course,  say:  ^^  En- 
chanting/' Her  moist  eyes  are  still 
the  same,  and,  what  does  not  surprise 
me  in  the  least  her  lips  are  still  that 
beautiful   red. 

^'You    use    rouge,    don't    you?" 

^^No,  that  is  natural  color.  My  lips 
are  always  like  this."  And  she  proves 
it  by  rubbing  them  with  a  damp  hand- 
kerchief. 

We  drive  back  over  the  Pont-Neuf  to 
the  Quartier  in  an  open  carriage.  Paris 
is  resplendent;  or  is  it  my  state  of 
mind  that  makes  me  think  so?  The 
sparkling,  blue  Seine  with  its  innumer- 
able steamboats,  its  black  tugs,  and 
long,  white  rowboats;  the  boulevard  with 
its  rows  of  trees,  whose  last  leaves  tremble 
in  the  autumnal  sunshine  and  among 
whose  branches  there  still  can  be  seen, 
here  and  there,  a  bright  streamer  from 
last  year's  carnival, — all  of  this  helps  to 
make  me  happier,  and  seems  to  me  to 
have  been  created  for  just  that  purpose. 


Les  Holies  95 

At  the  Cafe  de  la  Source  my  friend 
suggests  Petits  pacquets.  She  wins  a 
trifle.  After  that,  she  wins  five  francs; 
then  she  stops  playing  and  insists  upon 
payment.  I  tell  her  to  wait  two  days; 
but  since  she  does  not  consent  I  can- 
didly confess  to  her  that  I  have  not 
another  sou  in  my  pocket,  and  that  she 
will  have  to  treat  me  to  a  cup  of  coffee 
at  the  Caf^^  Vachette. 

We  wander  along  slowly  to  the  Cafe. 
The  waiter,  who  sees  me  daily  sitting 
alone  in  my  solitary  corner,  asks  me 
with  more  than  customary  politeness 
what  I  want.  I  tell  him  that  madame 
is  ordering.  Madame  feels  very  much 
embarassed.  With  downcast  eyes,  she 
stammers:  ^^Two  coffees.'^  ^^With 
brandy?''  the  waiter  asks  me.  ''  That  is 
for  madame  to  say."  ''With  brandy, 
of    course!"    madame    hastens    to    add. 

We  both  feel  rather  bored.  After  I 
have  finished  my  cup  I  ask  her  to 
treat  me  to  another.  She  has  a  five  franc 
piece  in  her  hand,  and  when  the  waiter 
passes    she    orders  another  cup  for  me. 


96  Les  Holies 

It  is  half  past  three.  I  have  not 
much  more  time.  We  go  together  to 
the  Carrefour  de  VOdeon,  and  there  we 
separate.  I  follow  her  with  my  eyes 
for  a  while.  As  with  elastic  step,  she  is 
turning  the  corner  of  St.  Sulpice  I 
suddenly  remember  that  I  have  for- 
gotten to  ask  her  name.  I  go  to  my 
room,  draw  my  curtains,  and  lie  down 
on  the  bed,   fully  dressed. 

As  I  reread  these  lines  one  thing  comes 
to  my  notice:  the  odd  things  about  diaries 
is — if  they  are  honest — that  they  seldom 
recount  any  events.  As  soon  as  events 
occur  in  life,  all  the  joy,  interest,  and 
time  for  diaries  is  gone,  and  one  re- 
gains the  spontaneous  naivete  of  the  child, 
or  the  beast  in    its    wild    surroundings. 


THE  VICTIM. 

^^No,  please  do  not  ask  me  how  I 
came  here.  How  can  you  be  interested 
in  it?  Tomorrow  you'll  be  laughing  at 
me;  I  can  see  it  in  your  face.  Why 
do  you  want  to  make  me  weep?  It's 
much  nicer  for  you  when  I  am  gay.'' 

And  the  beautiful,  slim  girl  from 
Munich,  with  her  heavy,  thick  raven- 
colored  hair  bent  trembling  over  him 
and  kissed  his  lips,  and  his  half -closed 
eyelids,  so  that  he  would  forget  his 
question.  But  it  did  no  good.  He 
made  a  grimace  that  caused  a  shudder 
to  pass  through  her  whole  body.  He 
rejected  her  caresses  pushing  her  away 
from  him.  Thus  he  made  her  helpless, 
for  her  beauty  was  all  that  she  pos- 
sessed. And  he  was  no  creature  of 
mad  passions,  but  a  dilettante  for 
whom  nature  had  made  nothing  too 
good.  He  had  to  add  his  seasoning  to 
everything  that  came  in  his  way.  While 
still    a    youth    he    had    tasted    aU    the 


98  The  Victim 

pleasures  of  life,  and  now  he  scorned  all 
that  was  law  to  others.  And  so  it  did 
not  satisfy  him  that  the  young  girl 
was  sinning  with  a  light  heart  for  his 
sake.  He  had  to  make  her  see  what 
she  was  doing  in  order  to  appreciate 
fully  the  last  soft  conscience  pain.  That 
was  the  reason  he  would  not  allow  her 
glances  or  her  smiles  to  lure  him  from 
his  purpose;  he  set  himself  up  as  an 
admonisher  of  penitence  and  asked  her 
quite  frankly  whether  hunger  had  driven 
her  to  it. 

'^No,  no.  I  always  had  enough  to  eat 
as  far  back  as  I  can  remember.  We 
had  meat  three  times  a  week  at  home.'^ 

He  had  thought  that.  For  whoever 
saw  her  could  not  possibly  imagine 
that  she  had  ever  suffered  from  lack 
of  food. 

^^But  you  had  nightmares  that  both- 
ered you?  You  came  here  to  enjoy 
your  youth?' ^ 

^^Oh,  God,  no!  Don't  ask  me  more.  Do 
you  live  here  in  Zurich,  or  are  you 
just  passing  through?" 


The  Victim  99 


C( 


Passing  through.  But  your  parents 
are  still  living?" 

^'Yes.  But  they  do  not  know  where 
I  am." 

^^Not  even  that  you  are  here  in 
Zurich?" 

^^No.  They  do  not  know  anything 
about  me." 

^'What  is  your  name?" 

'^Martha." 

^^  Martha?  Well,  well.  Yes,  there  are 
many  Marthas  in  God's  world.  I 
knew  already  that  your  name  was 
Martha." 

^^You  only  have  to  say  ^Martha' 
in  case  you  want  to  write  to  me.  Then 
you  can  feel  sure  that  I  will  receive 
the  letter.  All  of  my  friends  simply 
address  me  as  'Martha.'" 

^'And  your  last  name?" 

''That  I'd  not  tell  you  even  if  you 
had  a  knife  at  my  throat.  I'd  rather 
be    killed    than    mention    my    father's 


name." 


(( 


How  did  you  come  here?" 


100  The  Victim. 

^^VU  tell  you  another  time.  Only 
not  today.     Please  not  today.'' 

^'I  suppose  you  had  a  lot  of  work  to 
do  at  home?  You  had  to  get  up  early 
and  sweep  the  stairs?'' 

^^I  always  enjoyed  work." 

*^  Really,  is  that  such  a  pleasure  for 
you?  But  here  you  are  certainly  more 
comfortable." 

^^Oh,  why  do  you  say  that!  I'll 
tell  you  what  brought  me  here.  I 
beUeve  you  pity  me.  Other  men  want 
to  hear  nothing  but  obscenities  and  as 
soon  as  you  do  not  fondle  them,  they  do 
not  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
you.  God  knows,  I  have  never  yet 
spoken  to  a  Uving  soul  about  it,  al- 
though I  think  of  it  day  and  night.  My 
one  consolation  is  that  this  life  cannot 
last  long.  Then  all  is  over  and  for- 
gotten." 

^'But  don't  you  beheve  in  a  future 
life?" 

^^  There  may  be  one  for  rich  people, 
but  there  is  none  for  us.  That  would 
be  too  frightful!" 


The  Victim  101 

And  again  the  young  girl  looked  deep 
into  his  eyes,  because  she  was  not  sure 
whether  he  was  not  laughing  to  himself 
over  her  frankness.  Then  she  turned 
down  the  light  and  said: 

'^I  was  fourteen  years  old  when  my 
mother  put  me  to  work.  I  had  no 
figure,  and  my  eyes  were  as  large  as  a 
calf's.  There  were  four  of  us  appren- 
tices, Resi,  Celia,  Katy  and  I.  On 
Monday  mornings  we  would  count  the 
days  till  the  following  Sunday.  On 
Sunday  afternoons  we  used  to  visit 
each  other;  then  we'd  have  tea  and  go 
for  a  walk  in  the  park.  Do  you  know 
the  Englische  Garten  in  Munich?" 

^'Yes,  yes.  Yes  I've  often  gone 
skating   there   with   my   little   one." 

"That  you  did  not  have  to  tell  me 
now." 

"But  what  did  you  four  talk  about?" 

"Mostly  about  our  forelady.  She 
was  so  clever  that  we  all  had  the 
highest  respect  for  her.  When  a  lady 
would  come  for  the  first  time,  she  would 
simply  look  at  her  and  then  cut  out  a 


102  The  Victim 

pattern  on  her  lap.  It  looked  as  if  she 
were  designing  with  her  scissors. '^ 

^'And  you  talked  about  nothing  else?^' 

^^Why?  Oh,  yes.  We  used  to  tell 
about  our  home  life.  Celia  had  a 
brother  for  whom  she  made  clothes. 
He  was  still  at  school.  Sometimes  she 
helped  him  with  his  lessons.  You 
can't  realize  how  proud  she  was  of 
him.  Now  when  I  am  alone  I  often 
think  that  if  I  only  had  a  child  .  .  . 
and  then  my  mind  always  goes  back  to 
little  Hans.     He  was  so  pretty.^' 

^^Now  don't  weep." 

^^I'm  not  crying  on  that  account.  I 
am  only  thinking  how  much  I  feared 
it  at  first,  and  now  I'd  be  so  happy; 
then  at  least  I'd  have  something  to  live 
for." 

^^Yes,  but  you  would  only  spoil  the 
child." 

'^Yes,  you  are  right.  I'd  make  a 
mess  of  it.  And  I'd  love  it  with  all 
my  heart  and  soul.  It  would  have  a 
better  time  than  all  other  children." 

"Then  you  still  love  him?" 


The  Victim  103 

''Oh,   yes.     You   are   good.     I   could 
tell  you  everything.'^ 

How  did  you  happen  to  meet  him?" 
It  was  in  midwinter,  one  evening 
at  nine  o'clock.  I  had  been  working 
for  two  years.  By  this  time  I  was 
wearing  long  skirts,  and  when  I  used 
to  walk  down  the  street  without  my 
hat,  wearing  my  Httle  apron,  the  men 
would  smack  their  lips.  I  laughed 
about  it  because  I  took  it  as  a  com- 
pliment. Then,  one  evening,  I  was 
given  a  dress  to  dehver  to  the  Baroness 
Ubra,  who  hved  on  the  Schwabinger 
Landstrasse.  I  wanted  to  take  a  street 
car,  but  they  were  all  crowded.  It  was 
a  very  stormy  and  cold  night.  Every 
one  wore  ulsters  and  furs,  but  all  I 
had  on  was  my  coat  with  the  big 
buttons  and  my  feather  hat  that  I  had 
to  hold  to  keep  on  my  head.  Already 
in  the  Theatinerstrasse  I  was  wishing 
that  I  had  not  been  born.  My  hands 
and  feet  were  numb,  and  at  each  step 
I  bumped  into  somebody  else.  Then 
I  ran  into  a  street  lamp  and  broke  my 


104  The  Victim 

umbrella.  The  wind  tore  it  to  shreds. 
The  snow  blew  into  my  skirts  and  flew 
down  my  neck.  I  was  wet  from  top  to 
toe.  In  front  of  the  Feldherrnhalle, 
the  top  of  the  box  flew  off  and  the 
dress  fell  onto  the  snow.  I  wanted 
to  die  on  the  spot.  I  picked  up  the 
dress  and  brushed  off  the  snow  from  the 
paper  with  my  handkerchief  so  that 
the  moisture  would  not  go  through. 
Then  I  was  about  to  take  the  box  under 
my  arm  when  a  gust  of  wind  blew 
my  skirts  up  all  around  me.  Heavens, 
I  thought,  if  only  no  one  saw  me! 

^^Immediately  after  that  a  gentleman 
came  up  to  me  and  asked  if  he  might 
carry  my  bundle.    I  said  yes. 

'^So  we  two  walked  out  to  the 
Schwabinger  Landstrasse,  and  then  he 
walked  back  home  with  me.  He  had 
told  me  that  he  worked  in  a  store,  and 
that  he  was  supporting  his  sixty  year 
old  mother.  I  told  him  where  I  worked. 
I  had  not  looked  at  his  face  carefully 
and  would  never  have  been  able  to 
recognize  him  again. 


The  Victim  105 

'^But  the  next  evening  as  I  was 
coming  out  of  the  store,  he  was  at  my 
side,  as  soon  as  I  had  separated  from 
the  other  girls.  As  he  had  been  so 
kind,  I  could  not  send  him  away.  And 
thus  it  was  that  every  evening  he 
called  for  me  and  then  walked  up  to 
my  house  door  with  me,  always  telling 
me  how  good  and  kind  his  old  mother 
was.  And  when  the  spring  came  he 
told  me  one  evening  that  he  loved  me. 
At  first  I  did  not  believe  it.  But  for 
an  entire  month  he  spoke  of  nothing 
else;  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  asked 
me  whether  I  loved  him,  and  I  answered 
yes. 

^'That  was  the  terrible  part;  from 
that  day  on  he  was  not  the  same  man. 
Before  this  he  had  always  been  so 
gentle  and  kind;  now  that  was  all 
over.  He  insisted  that  I  did  not  love 
him.  I  told  him  again  and  again  that 
I  did.  And  it  was  true.  I  thought  of 
him  all  day  long,  and  used  to  wonder 
in  what  sort  of  humor  he  would  be  in 
the    evening.      But    he    was    never    the 


106  The  Victim 

same  any  more.  His  eyes  were  always 
on  the  ground,  and  often  he  never 
spoke  a  word.  Before  this  he  had 
often  kissed  me  on  leaving  me.  Now 
he  did  not  even  do  that  any  more. 
I  asked  him  to  do  so,  but  he  refused. 
He  called  me  a  ^cocotte.'  I  was  so 
frightened;  I  did  not  know  what  that 
meant.  At  first  I  could  not  even  re- 
member the  word.  Then  I  wrote  it 
down  and  asked  Celia  what  it  meant. 
She  said  that  it  was  a  girl  who  walked 
the  streets  at  night. 

^'My  mother  asked  me  why  I  looked 
so  badly,  and  why  I  did  not  eat  or 
talk  any  more.  But  I  could  not  say 
anything.  I  had  firmly  decided  not  to 
say  anything  at  home  about  him  until 
we  would  be  able  to  announce  our 
engagement;  and  his  income  was  not 
yet  large  enough  for  that.  It  meant 
waiting  until  his  mother  died.  But 
once,  when  he  left  me  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  square,  because  he  was 
so  angry,  and  then  walked  away  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  I  rushed  after 


The  Victim  107 

him  and  threw  my  arms  around  his 
neck;  and  he  must  have  seen  that  I 
loved  him.  I  begged  him  to  be  as  he 
used  to;  I  had  done  nothing  to  hurt 
him;  he  should  not  torture  me  so 
terribly.  Then  he  murmured:  ^ Prove 
to  me  that  you  love  me.'  I  asked  him 
how  I  could  prove  it,  and  he  answered 
that  I  certainly  must  know,  I  was  no 
child  any  more.  Then  he  told  me  that 
I  was  a  coquette  and  that  I  was  playing 
with  him;  but  he  had  enough  of  it, 
and  was  not  going  to  be  made  a  fool 
of  any  longer. 

^^I  could  not  sleep  that  whole  night, 
and  I  kept  wondering  what  he  meant, 
and  why  I  had  shown  myself  ungrateful. 
Finally,  I  decided  to  question  Celia, 
as  he  would  not  tell  me  himself.  But 
I  did  not  want  to  tell  Celia  the  whole 
story.  No  one  had  noticed  my  going 
with  him,  and  thus  I  wanted  it  to  be, 
until  we  could  announce  our  engage- 
ment. He  used  to  tell  me  about  his 
mother's  ill  health;  then  she  would  be 
better  again. 


108  The  Victim 

'^ After  dinner,  as  I  was  walking  arm 
in  arm  with  Celia,  I  asked  her  if  she 
had  ever  been  in  love.  She  pondered  a 
moment,  and  then  said  yes.  I  then 
asked  her  what  she  had  done,  and  she 
told  me  that  she  had  taken  a  hot  foot 
bath.  Then  all  was  put  to  rights,  she 
said.  No,  she  had  done  nothing  more.  I 
should  have  liked  to  know  more,  but 
she  laughed  and  told  me  that  the  rest 
was  strictly  private. 

'^That  evening  I  told  him  that  I 
knew  all;  I  had  asked  Celia  and  he 
should  wait  until  the  next  day.  ^Then 
tomorrow,'  he  said,  and  kissed  me. 
He  was  sweeter  than  he  had  been  for 
weeks.  That  whole  evening  I  was  in  a 
tremble.  I  prayed  that  my  mother 
would  not  notice  that  I  was  going  to 
take  a  foot  bath.  I  was  terribly  fright- 
ened. After  they  were  all  asleep,  I 
crept  down  to  the  kitchen  in  my  night- 
gown. I  had  left  the  fire  burning  in 
the  stove.  I  put  on  the  kettle  to  boil, 
and  then  I  had  sensations  that  I  had 
never  felt  before.    You  may  not  believe 


The  Victim  109 

it,  but  I  trembled  for  joy,  and  wondered 
what  he  would  think  when  he  saw  me 
so  changed.  I  crept  into  bed,  and 
slept  as  I  have  never  slept  before. 
The  next  evening  I  was  in  a  terrible 
state.  First  we  fell  into  each  other^s 
arms  and  kissed.  I  was  so  happy  I 
could  have  wept.  Then  he  told  me  to 
come  with  him,  but  I  told  him  that 
he  knew  I  had  to  go  home.  Then  he 
called  me  a  silly,  stubborn  creature. 
^^On  Sunday  I  went  to  the  fortune 
teller.  I  did  not  want  to  tell  her 
any  more  of  my  love  than  I  did  Celia, 
but  in  five  minutes  she  had  the  whole 
story  out  of  me.  Then  she  told  me 
that  I  should  go  with  him  and  deny 
him  nothing,  for  if  I  did  he  would 
realize  how  much  I  loved  him.  I 
asked  her  how  much  I  owed  her,  and 
she  wanted  to  know  how  much  money 
I  had  with  me.  I  told  her  three  dollars 
and  ten  cents.  She  said  that  although 
her  usual  fee  was  five  dollars  she  would 
be  satisfied  because  it  was  I.  Finally, 
she  asked  me  to  come  and  see  her  again. 


no  The  Victim 

^^The  next  evening  I  went  to  bed 
with  all  my  clothes  on.  I  had  removed 
only  my  shoes.  As  it  struck  eleven  I 
tiptoed  down  the  stairs.  He  embraced 
me  and  took  me  to  his  room.  An  hour 
later,  he  brought  me  back;  but  I  could 
not  imagine  why  he  was  so  happy.  I 
thought  that  there  must  be  something 
very  strange  about  love  to  make  a  man 
so  happy  at  the  knowledge  that  he 
was  loved  by  a  girl. 

^^Then  I  became  his  mistress.  Al- 
ready in  the  first  week  he  said:  ^If 
you  really  love  me,  you'll  not  Uve  at 
home  any  longer.  If  the  butcher's 
boys  should  find  me  at  your  door 
they'd  kill  me.'  I  took  my  clothes 
along  that  night,  and  the  next  day  I 
said  I  had  a  headache,  and  went  to 
look  for  a  room  with  a  bed  and  two 
chairs.  That  evening  I  did  not  return 
home.  My  father  came  to  me  on 
Sunday.  He  asked  me  if  I  was  still 
working  in  the  store.  I  said  that  I 
was.  Then  he  asked  me  the  name  of 
my    lover.      I    replied,    'That    I'll    not 


The  Victim  111 

tell  you;  you  can  beat  me  as  much  as 
as  you  want  to,  but  I'll  not  tell  you/ 
Then  he  threatened  to  get  the  police. 
I  told  him  that  I  was  not  afraid  of 
the  police,  or  of  the  entire  world.  Then 
he  fell  on  my  bed  and  sobbed  as  if 
his  heart  would  break.  Then  he  got  up, 
looked  me  square  in  the  face,  gave  me 
a  terrible  slap,  and  left  my  room.  I 
never  saw  him  again. 

^^My  lover  now  came  to  see  me  every 
evening.  His  mother,  he  said,  was  very 
ill,  and  that  was  why  he  had  given  up 
his  apartment.  He  needed  the  money 
for  medical  purposes.  Sometimes,  when 
he  did  not  have  enough,  I  gave  him  a 
few  of  my  savings,  but  I  never  had 
much  left  over  as  I  always  had  to  pay 
for  supper  for  two  people.  At  first  he 
was  going  to  introduce  me  to  his 
mother;  but  now  it  was  too  late,  she 
was  too  ill.  He  was  afraid  that  the 
pleasure  and  the  excitement  would  kill 
her  on  the  spot. 

^^Once  in  the  shop,  when  the  forelady 
was    gone,    Resi    and    Celia    began    to 


112  The  Victim 

speak  about  a  girl  who  had  had  a  child. 
I  asked  whether  she  was  not  married. 
They  said  she  was  not.  Then  a  terrible 
fear  seized  me.  I  became  quite  ill  and 
had  to  go  home.  I  wept  the  whole 
day.  Never  in  my  life  had  I  thought 
that  one  could  have  children  without 
being  married.  When  I  told  him,  he 
called  me  a  silly  child,  and  told  me 
that  he  was  not  in  the  least  afraid. 
But  from  that  day  on  I  never  had  a 
moment  of  quiet. 

^^And  then  he  was  sent  here  to  Zurich 
on  business.  As  we  were  sitting  in  the 
train  a  young  girl  entered.  At  first 
she  sat  in  the  opposite  corner,  but  when 
she  saw  my  lover  she  threw  him  a 
glance  that  made  me  shudder,  and 
then  she  sat  opposite  to  him.  She  said 
that  she  was  engaged  as  a  waitress. 
She  was  laced  so  tightly  that  I  did  not 
see  how  she  could  breathe.  And  she 
could  not  keep  her  feet  still,  and  she 
kept  fanning  herself  with  a  handker- 
chief that  smelled  like  a  menagerie. 
She  exchanged  looks  with  my  lover  that 


The  Victim  113 

seemed  to  imply  the  most  heavenly 
things,  but  I  did  not  understand  them. 
Once  in  a  while  she  would  look  at  me; 
but  then  I  was  ashamed  to  death.  I 
had  on  a  terribly  faded  dress,  a  gray 
shawl  over  my  head,  and  I  kept  my 
feet  curled  up  beneath  me  as  there  were 
big  holes  in  my  shoes.  She  wore  brand 
new  russet  shoes  with  gilded  buttons. 
Her  dress  was  so  tight  that  one  could 
see  the  outlines  of  her  knees.  On  her 
lap  she  had  a  box  of  candy  and  a 
bottle  of  plum  brandy.  She  offered 
me  some  of  it.  I  did  not  want  to  take 
any  but  my  lover  told  me  not  to  be 
bashful.  Just  before  we  reached  Lin- 
dau,  the  engine  came  to  a  sudden  stop, 
and  she  almost  fell  into  his  arms. 

^'As  soon  as  the  second  day  he  went 
out  with  her  to  the  concert  hall  in  the 
evening  and  did  not  return  the  whole 
night.  In  the  morning  I  set  out  to 
look  for  him,  and  when  I  returned  his 
belongings  were  gone.  Then  I  looked 
for  him  all  over  the  city.  I  pictured 
him    standing    at    every    street    corner. 


114  The  Victim 

Finally  I  found  him  on  a  bench  on  the 
quai.  I  asked  him  to  come  back  with 
me.  He  told  me  that  he  would  not; 
that  here  in  Zurich  the  police  forbid 
a  man  and  woman  to  live  together. 
We  would  be  sent  to  prison  if  we  were 
caught.  But  he  promised  to  come  and 
see  me  as  often  as  he  could. 

^'During  the  first  two  weeks  he  only 
came  three  times.  I  had  found  work 
in  a  store  and  sat  at  home  all  day  and 
did  sewing.  On  his  third  visit  I  asked 
him  where  he  was  living,  but  he  would 
not  tell  me.  And  so  often  I  would  go 
out  on  the  streets  looking  for  him 
because  I  had  firmly  made  up  my  mind 
not  to  return  to  my  room  without  him. 

^^One  evening  about  eleven  o'clock, 
I  caught  him  just  as  he  was  coming  out 
of  a  fine  restaurant.  I  asked  him 
point-blank,  ^You  are  living  with  that 
waitress?'  Then  I  asked  him  whether 
he  did  not  love  me  any  longer.  He 
replied,  'How  can  I  love  you  as  long 
as  I  do  not  come  to  see  you  any  more?' 
At    first    I    did    not    understand    him. 


The  Victim  115 

^What  did  you  say?'  I  asked  him.  And 
then  he  repeated,  ^How  can  I  love  you 
as  long  as  I  do  not  come  to  see  you 
any  more?' 

'^It  seemed  to  grow  green  and  blue 
before  my  eyes.  I  held  my  hands  up  to 
my  face  and  ran  away.  I  had  to  think 
over  what  he  had  said.  What  did  he 
understand  about  love  since  he  thought 
that  as  long  as  we  were  not  living  to- 
gether he  had  to  cease  to  love  me?  I 
knew  that  I  had  loved  him  in  spite 
of  it.  I  loved  him,  and  love  him  still; 
I  could  have  worked  for  him  my  whole 
life;  and  he  could  not  love  me  any 
more  because  he  did  not  come  to  see 
me.  I  was  not  a  silly  girl  any  longer. 
I  also  felt  that  there  was  something 
very  sweet  in  being  together.  And  then 
I  began  to  think  that  that  was  all  he 
had  wanted  from  the  beginning.  Then 
I  ran  down  to  the  lake  and  wanted  to 
drown  myself.  But  that  was  not 
enough  for  me.  It  hurt  me  that  the 
water  seemed  so  sweet  and  pleasant. 
I   ran  through  the   streets   and  wished 


116  The  Victim 

that  somebody  would  come  along  and 
maltreat  me  so  badly  that  I  would  lose 
my  mind.  I  felt  that  if  some  one  would 
kick  me  my  pain  would  be  lessened. 
I  felt  that  I  had  to  let  myself  be 
debased  as  low  as  possible,  and  then 
perhaps  I  would  not  feel  the  pains  in 
my  heart  so  much. 

*^I  pondered  a  long  while.  A  gentle- 
man came  along  and  smoothed  my  hair. 
I  would  have  gone  with  him  but  he  was 
too  kind,  too  decent.  He  wore  kid 
gloves  and  seemed  to  be  some  one  who 
wanted  to  save  me.  No,  no;  I  had  to 
go  lower,  lower,  where  one  can  neither 
see  nor  hear.  I  whispered  to  myself 
that  I  had  to  become  so  miserable  that 
I  could  feel  nothing  more. 

''My  lover  had  told  me  that  in  Zurich 
there  were  women  who  took  young 
girls  into  their  houses  and  then  sold 
them.  I  asked  a  policeman  at  the 
corner  where  I  could  find  such  a  woman. 
He  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  been  in  one 
of  those  houses  before,  and  I  told  him 
I  had.  Then  he  took  me  by  the  arm 
and  took  me  to  the  station  house.     A 


The  Victim  117 

red-faced  man,  with  a  black  moustache 
and  blue  glasses  also  asked  me  whether 
I  had  ever  been  in  that  kind  of  a  house 
before.  And  I  again  said  that  I  had. 
Then  he  asked  me  where  that  had  been, 
and  I  pointed  to  some  indefinite  direc- 
tion. I  told  him  that  I  was  a  total 
stranger,  that  I  had  today  for  the  first 
time  gone  out  and  that  I  could  not  find 
my  way  back.  Then  he  told  two  police- 
men to  bring  me  to  this  place.  And 
here  I  am.  .  .  ." 

^^But  the  life  here  is  very  nice,  isn't 
it?'' 

^^At  first  the  lady  of  the  house  was 
dissatisfied  with  me  because  I  was 
always  so  sad.  But  since  she  sees  that 
our  most  repulsive  customers  always 
pick  me  out  and  that  I  never  refuse 
any  of  them,  she  likes  me  just  as  well 
as  young  Miss  Palmyra,  that  very  jolly 
girl." 

It  was  Sunday  morning  when  the 
young  man  found  himself  out  in  the 
open  again.  The  church  bells  were 
ringing;  men,  women,  and  children  were 


118  The  Victim 

coming  out  of  church.  The  young  man 
would  have  hked  to  make  some  wit- 
ticism about  it  but  he  did  not  feel 
very  well.  He  had  never  appeared  so 
small  to  himself;  but  neither  had  he 
ever  appeared  so  good  to  himself.  He 
did  not  recognize  this  new  state  of  mind. 
He  compared  the  care  free,  sunny  mood 
of  the  churchgoers,  who  had  just 
listened  to  their  minister  and  who  were 
looking  forward  to  their  Sunday  dinner, 
with  the  serious  tone  of  his  own  soul 
and  he  decided,  without  a  spark  of 
frivolity,  that  he  did  not  envy  them. 
That  evening  he  had  taken  off  the  mask 
of  the  admonisher  of  penitence.  He 
had  learned  to  believe  in  innocence 
where  he  least  expected  to  find  it.  He 
despised  himself  when  his  thoughts 
went  back  to  the  girl.  She  had  never 
wanted  to  do  wrong  and  had  drawn 
the  unlucky  number  in  life's  lottery. 
He  had  never  wanted  to  do  anything 
good  in  this  world,  still  he  felt  that  he 
was  not  quite  lost  yet.  The  impres- 
sion remained  with  him  to  the  end  of 
bis  days. 


THE  INOCULATION. 

When  I  teU  you  this  story,  my 
friends,  I  do  not  do  so  to  show  the 
slyness  of  women  nor  the  stupidity  of 
men;  I  tell  it  rather  on  account  of 
certain  psychological  curiosities  con- 
tained in  it  which  will  interest  you, 
and  which,  if  known,  can  be  of  great 
advantage  to  you  during  life.  But 
before  proceeding,  allow  me  to  protest 
against  the  reproach  that  I  am  crowing 
over  my  early  misconduct  which  I  so 
thoroughly  repent,  and  which,  now  that 
my  hair  has  turned  gray  and  my  knees 
weak,  is  of  no  fascination  to  me. 

^'You  have  nothing  to  fear,  my 
dear,  sweet  boy,''  said  Fanny  one 
evening,  just  as  her  husband  was  com- 
ing home,  '^because  married  men  are 
jealous  only  when  they  have  no  cause 
for  it.  And  from  the  very  moment 
that  there  is  a  cause  for  jealousy  they 
are  as  struck  blind.'' 


120  The  Inoculation 

^'But  I  don^t  like  his  expression/' 
I  murmured.  ^'It  seems  to  me  that 
he  has  noticed  something/' 

''You  misunderstand  that  expression/' 
she  said.  ''That  expression  is  only  the 
result  of  the  means  I  have  used  in 
order  to  prevent  any  possible  jealousy 
from  ever  arising  in  him,  and  to  stop 
any    suspicious    thoughts    about    you." 

"What  is  this  means?"  I  asked, 
astonished. 

"It  is  a  sort  of  inoculation.  On  the 
very  day  thait  I  took  you  for  my  lover 
I  told  him  quite  frankly  that  I  loved 
you.  Since  then  I  repeat  it  to  him 
twice  daily,  on  arising  and  on  retiring. 
'You  have  every  reason,'  I  say  to  him, 
'to  be  jealous  of  that  dear  boy;  I  truly 
love  him,  and  it  is  neither  your  nor 
my  merit  that  I  remain  faithful  to 
you,  but  it  is  through  him  that  I  am 
still  as  virtuous  as  I  am.' " 

In  that  very  moment  it  became  clear 
to  me  why  her  husband,  when  he  did 
not   think   that   I   was   looking,    would 


The  Inoculation  121 

gaze  at  me  in  a  sympathetically  scorn- 
ful way. 

^'And  do  you  really  think/'  I  asked, 
"that  this  means  is  lasting?" 

"  Unfailing !''  she  replied  with  perfect 
surety. 

In  spite  of  it,  however,  I  greatly 
doubted  that  safety  of  her  psychological 
calculations  until  one  day  the  following 
event  forced  me  to  change  my  mind. 

I  was  at  that  time  living  in  the  heart 
of  the  city,  in  a  small  furnished  room 
on  the  fourth  floor  of  a  large  apartment 
house.  I  was  accustomed  to  sleep  late 
into  the  morning.  One  sunny  day, 
at  about  nine  o'clock,  the  door  opened 
and  she  entered.  I  should  never  have 
told  what  followed  if  it  had  not  shown 
one  of  the  most  surprising  and  still 
credible  cases  of  blindness  that  are 
conceivable  in  mankind.  Hardly  had 
the  sheets  covered  us  both,  when  we 
heard  steps  in  front  of  the  door.  There 
was  a  knock,  and  I  had  hardly  time 
enough  to  pull  the  sheet  over  her 
head,    when   her   husband,    puffing   and 


122  The  Inoculation 

perspiring  after  having  walked  up  the 
one  hundred  twenty  steps  to  my  room, 
came  into  the  room,  his  face  all  aglow 
with  happiness. 

'^I  came  to  ask  you  whether  you 
wanted  to  take  a  little  trip  with  Roeder, 
Schletter  and  myself.  We  are  going  to 
take  the  train  as  far  as  Ebenhausen, 
and  from  there  we  are  going  to  bicycle 
to  Ammerland.  I  really  had  work 
to  do  at  home  today,  but  my  wife  left 
early  this  morning  to  find  out  how  the 
Bruechmann's  youngest  child  is,  and 
the  weather  was  so  glorious  that  I 
could  not  stay  at  home.  I  met  Roeder 
and  Schletter  at  the  Cafe  Luitpold 
and  we  made  ud  the  party.  Our 
train  leaves  at  10.57. '^ 

During  the  time  that  he  was  speaking 
I  had  a  chance  to  collect  my  thoughts. 
^^You  see  that  I  am  not  alone,''  I 
remarked,   smiling. 

^^Yes,  I  see,"  he  replied  with  that 
understanding  smile.  Then  his  eyes 
began  to  sparkle.  Hesitatingly  he  took 
a  step  forward  and  now  stood  close  to 


The  Inoculation  123 

the  chair  on  which  I  always  placed  my 
clothes.  On  the  top  of  the  chair  lay 
a  fine  batiste,  armless  chemise,  with  a 
name  embroidered  on  it;  across  that 
lay  a  pair  of  open-worked,  silk  stock- 
ings. Since  there  was  no  other  part  of 
a  feminine  wardrobe  apparent,  his  gaze 
fell  on  that  with  unmistakable  longing. 

That  moment  was  the  deciding  one. 
One  second  more  an<d  he  must  remem- 
ber that  he  had  seen  this  apparel  some- 
where before  in  his  life.  Let  it  cost 
what  it  might,  I  had  to  detract  his 
attention  from  the  incriminating  evi- 
dence. The  train  of  thought  which 
flew  through  my  mind  caused  me  to 
perpetrate  an  outrage  which,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  it  saved  the  situation, 
causes  me  as  much  shame  now  as  it 
did  twenty  years  ago. 

'^I  am  not  alone,''  I  repeated.  ^^And, 
if  you  had  the  slightest  idea  of  the 
magnificence  of  this  creature  you  would 
envy  me."  With  that  I  pressed  my 
arm  on  that  part  of  the  sheet  where 
I  thought  her  mouth  was,   in  order  to 


124  The  Inoculation 

stop  any  sort  of  a  sound  that  she  might 
utter. 

His  greedy  eyes  traveled  up  and  down 
the  perfect  outhne. 

And  now  comes  the  terrible,  the 
unheard  of.  I  grasped  the  bottom  of 
the  sheet  and  pulled  it  right  up  to 
her  throat,  so  that  only  her  head  was 
covered.  ^^Have  you  ever  in  all  of 
your  Ufe  seen  anything  so  magnificent?" 
I  asked  him. 

His  eyes  stood  wide  open,  but  he  was 
very  much  confused. 

^^Yes,  yes,  —  I  must  say  —  you  have 
good  taste  —  well,  I  —  Til  go  now  — 
please  excuse  my  —  disturbance." 

With  that,  he  drew  back  to  the  door 
and  I  slowly,  very  slowly,  lowered  the 
veil.  But  then  I  jumped  up  as  quick 
as  a  flash  and  stood  with  him  at  the 
door,  but  I  was  so  placed  that  he  could 
not  possibly  see  the  chair  on  which  the 
clothes  lay. 

"I'll  probably  take  the  noon  train 
to  Ebenhausen,"  I  said,  as  he  stood 
there,    his    hand    on    the    door    knob. 


The  Inoculation  125 

'' Perhaps  you^ll  wait  for  me  there  at 
the  Gasthof  zur  Post.  Then  we  can 
ride  together  to  Ammerland.  Ttat  will 
be  a  lovely  trip.  And  thank  you  so 
much  for  your  invitation.^' 

He  made  a  few,  well-meaning  re- 
marks and  then  left.  I  remained  rooted 
to  the  spot  until  I  heard  him  leave  the 
house. 

I  will  spare  you  a  description  of  the 
terrible  fury  into  which  the  deplorable 
woman  flew  after  this  scene.  She  was 
like  a  maniac,  and  swore  such  implac- 
able hatred  against  me  as  I  have  never 
in  all  my  life  heard.  And  while  she 
was  hurrying  into  her  clothes  she  even 
threatened  to  spit   in  my  face. 

^^  Where  do  you  think  of  going  now?" 

^^I  don't  know  —  I'll  drown  myself  — 
or  go  home  —  or  to  the  Bruechmann's 
—  to  see  how  their  youngest  is  getting 
along  —  I  don't  know!" 

At  about  two  o'clock  Roeder, 
Schletter,  my  friend  and  I  were  sitting 
under  the  shady  chestnut  tree  at  the 
Gasthof   zur   Post   in   Ebenhausen    and 


126  The  Inoculation 

were  relishing  our  chicken  and  salad. 
My  friend,  whom  I  had  been  watching 
very  closely,  gave  me  every  reason  to 
feel  absolutely  safe,  as  he  was  in  unusual, 
good  humor.  Every  once  in  a  while 
he  would  throw  an  amusing  glance  at 
me,  and  then  would  relishingly  rub 
his  hands  together,  without,  however, 
betraying  the  cause  of  his  joUiness. 
The  excursion  went  off  quietly  and  at 
ten  o'clock  we  were  back  again  in  the 
city.  At  the  station,  we  decided  it  was 
too  early  to  go  home,  so  we  thought 
we  would  go  to  a  cafe. 

''I  am  going  home  to  get  my  wife,'' 
my  friend  said.  ^^She  has  been  at  the 
bedside  of  a  sick  child  all  day,  and 
would  be  provoked  if  I  let  her  stay  at 
home  alone  the  entire  evening." 

A  little  later  he  brought  her  back 
with  him.  The  conversation,  of  course, 
centered  around  the  excursion,  the  event- 
lessness  of  which  made  us  all  try  our 
utmost  to  make  some  interesting  story 
of  it.  The  young  woman  spoke  very 
little   and   ignored  me   altogether.     He, 


The  Inoculation  127 

on  the  contrary,  even  more  than  in  the 
afternoon,  wore  that  puzzling  look  of 
conquest.  His  triumphant  glances  were, 
however,  more  for  his  wife  than  for 
me.  It  was  as  if  he  had  experienced 
some   deep-rooted   satisfaction. 

It  was  not  until  a  month  later,  when 
I  was  alone  with  her  for  the  first  time 
again,  that  the  riddle  was  solved  for 
me.  After  I  had  once  more  to  stand 
some  very  severe  reproaches,  there  was 
a  sort  of  reconciliation,  after  which, 
she  told  me  how  her  husband,  on  that 
eventful  day,  had  told  her  the  follow- 
ing story: 

'^Now  I  really  have  come  to  know 
what  sort  of  a  man  your  ^dear,  sweet 
boy'  is,  my  child.  Every  day  you 
tell  me  how  you  love  him,  and  you  have 
no  idea  how  he  is  laughing  at  you 
behind  your  back.  This  morning  I 
went  to  his  room;  of  course,  he  was 
not  alone.  And  now  I  also  see  why 
he  bothers  so  little  about  you  and  why 
he  spurns  your  feelings.  For  his  mis- 
tress   is    a    woman    of    such    wonderful 


128  The  Inoculation. 

bodily  perfection  that  you  could  never 
even    hope    to    compete    with    her/^ 

That,  my  friends,  was  the  way  in 
which  the  inoculation  worked.  I  have 
only  told  you  about  it  so  that  you  may 
guard  your  lives  against  it. 


RABBI  ESRA 

"Moses,  Moses,  I  do  not  like  your 
actions.  Why  do  you  want  to  become 
engaged  at  twenty  when  you  do  not 
wish  to  wed  until  you  are  twenty-five?'' 
Old  Esra  gazed  at  his  son  with  half- 
closed  eyes,  as  if  he  wanted  to  decipher 
an  indelible  cabalistic  cipher  in  his 
son's    head. 

"I  love  Rebecca." 

"You  love  Rebecca?  How  do  you 
know  that  you  love  Rebecca?  I  will 
believe  that  you  love  a  small  foot, 
white  skin,  and  a  smooth  face;  but  how 
do  you  know  that  it  is  Rebecca?  You 
have  studied  Roman  law,  you  have 
studied  Civil  law,  but  you  have  not 
studied  women.  Have  I  brought  you 
up  with  care  for  twenty  years  only  to 
have  you  begin  your  life  with  a  folly? 
How  many  women  have  you  known, 
Moses,  that  you  can  come  to  your  old 
father  and  tell  him  that  you  are  in, 
love?" 


130  Rabbi  Esra 

"I  know  but  one,  and  I  love  her  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  bottom 
of  youT  heart?  Have  you  learned  to 
know  your  whole  heart?" 

**I  entreat  you,  father,  not  to  make 
light  of  my  feelings." 

**  Moses,  Moses,  now  do  not  be  hot 
headed.  I  tell  you,  do  not  be  hot 
headed.  Let  me  tell  you  a  story. 
Come  over  here  and  sit  next  to  me  on 
the  divan.  Let  me  tell  you  what  my 
father  told  me  when  I  was  twenty  years 
old." 

"'Esra,'  he  said  to  me,  'when  you 
marry,  marry  a  rich  girl.  Believe  your 
father  when  he  tells  you  that  woman 
is  not  lasting.  But  a  sound  taler  will 
last  through   generations!'" 

"And  when  I  thought  it  over  that 
he  was  an  old  man  I  promised  him  that 
my  wife  would  have  a  dowry  of  thirty 
thousand  talers.  But  I  want  to  ex- 
plain to  you,  Moses,  why  I  loved  little 
Leah,  why  I  married  her,  why  I  lived 
in  sadness  with  her  until  she  was  taken 


Rahhi  Esra  131 

from  me  like  snow  melts  in  the  hand. 
It  was  because  I  did  not  know  women, 
Esra;   because  I   did  not  know  myself. 
"Moses,  I  am  an  old  man  and  I  want 
nothing    more    from    the    world    except 
your   happiness.     When    I    was    twenty 
years  old  my  soul  was  like  a  barnyard 
before  sunrise.     When  I  walked  on  the 
street   and   a   Gentile   girl   or   a   Jewish 
girl  passed  me,  I  could  feel  her  presence 
in  my  finger  tips,  and  I  wished  that  I 
had     been     King     Solomon     with     five 
thousand    wives.      But    she    had    to    be 
made  as  if  the  Lord  had  made  her  for 
Himself;  she  had  to  possess  every  pos- 
sible feminine  charm.     If  she  was  small, 
thin,  pale,  and  quick  as  a  rat  I  lowered 
my   umbrella   towards   her,   for   it   hurt 
my  eyes  to  behold  her.     But  if  she  was 
like    the    cedars    on    Lebanon,    then    I 
lowered  my  umbrella  towards  the  other 
side;  and  I  took  her  picture  home  with 
me  and  saw  it  while  I  was  reading  the 
Talmud;   and   I   could   hear   the   patter 
of    her    feet    in    the    holy    words.     And 
the  picture  appeared  to  me  in  the  night 


132  Rabbi  Esra 

—  and  I  had  it  before  me  as  Moses 
had  the  image  of  the  Lord  before  him 
in   the   Holy   Land. 

"But  then  I  said  to  myself  —  Moses, 
can  you  imagine  what  I  said  to  myself? 
^You  are  a  child  of  the  devil,  and  you 
have  been  so  since  your  birth.  If  you 
give  in  to  your  desires,  and  if  you 
want  to  cross  the  river  Jordan,  then 
you  will  become  a  child  of  death.  You 
should  not  go  with  women  who  appeal 
to  your  senses,  but  you  should  go  with 
women  who  appeal  to  your  heart,  un- 
less you  want  your  flesh  to  become  like 
the  flesh  of  Job;  unless  you  want  your 
actions  to  be  cursed;  unless  you  want 
to    eat   grass    like    Nebuchadnezzar.' 

"And  then  I  went  to  old  Hezekiel 
and  asked  him  to  give  me  his  daughter 
Leah;  and  I  promised  him  that  I  would 
do  all  that  I  could  to  make  her  happy. 
Leah  was  like  the  shadow  on  the  win- 
dowpane,  but  I  loved  her  because  I 
thought  that  she  would  save  me  from 
myself,  from  the  devil,  and  from  death, 
which    I   felt   day    and   night   hovering 


Rabbi  Esra  133 

over  my  head.  At  first  she  would  have 
none  of  me,  for  I  was  big  and  broad, 
while  she  was  small  and  thin;  and  she 
was  ashamed  to  walk  on  the  street  with 
me.  But  as  no  one  else  came  to  ask 
for  her  hand  she  took  me. 

"Now,  Moses,  let  your  father  tell 
you  how  our  human  understanding  is 
hemmed  in,  and  how  vain  is  all  our 
discernment.  I  had  not  as  yet  tasted 
the  sweetness  of  love;  I  was  as  chaste  as 
the  dew  on  Hebron,  just  as  you  are, 
Moses;  although  you  have  studied  Ro- 
man law  and  Civil  law  and  have  neglec- 
ted Moses  and  the  prophets.  But  when 
I  tasted  of  the  sweetness  of  love  with 
Leah  I  realized  that  it  was  a  sin  before 
God,  and  I  thanked  the  Lord  that  He 
had  not  let  me  go  the  road  of  the  god- 
less. I  had  dreamed  during  my  lonely 
nights  that  this  love  would  act  on  the 
body  like  a  balm,  but  behold,  it  was 
like  medicine  to  Leah  and  me.  And 
we  took  it  as  medicine,  with  eyes  closed 
and  choking  throats,  as  if  it  had  been 
prescribed  by  a  physician.     And  when 


134  Rabbi  Esra 

we  had  tasted  it  we  felt  as  if  we  had 
been  judged  by  the  Lord  and  cursed, 
and  we  avoided  each  other  Hke  thieves 
in  the  night,  having  met  at  their 
devilish  work.  Then  I  said  to  myseK: 
*You  were  right,  Esra,  bodily  love  is 
like  serving  the  devil,  and  is  not  worthy 
of  mankind.'  And  believe  your  old 
father,  Moses,  I  was  not  happy. 

**  I  was  not  happy,  Moses,  my  son, 
and  the  Lord  is  my  witness;  for  I 
could  not  converse  any  more  with 
Leah  than  if  she  had  been  an  inanimate 
thing.  Her  thoughts  were  not  my 
thoughts,  for  my  thoughts  were  my 
own,  and  she  had  none.  Then  I 
turned  to  solitude,  and  I  found  solace 
in  it.  And  I  said  to  myself:  'Esra,' 
I  said,  V^u  have  bought  a  cat  in  the 
bag,  and  on  your  head  lies  the  re- 
sponsibility. You  could  have  tested 
her,  and  found  out  whether  her  soul 
was  mated  to  yours,  whether  her  heart 
was  the  companion  of  yours.  Do  not 
let  her  notice,  Esra,  that  you  have 
bought  a  cat  in  the  bag,  for  she  is  as 


Rabbi  Esra  135 

innocent  as  a  lamb.  And  why  were 
you  not  as  careful  in  picking  out  a  wife 
as  you  are  when  you  buy  an  expensive 
scarf  ?' 

"And  thus  I  lived  and  suffered  with 
her  for  two  long  years,  and  loved  her 
all  the  while,  for  she  kept  me  away 
from  the  temptation  of  the  flesh  until 
she  had  borne  me  a  little  boy;  but  there 
was  not  room  for  him  and  the  Lord 
took  both  him  and  my  Leah  away 
from   me. 

"Moses,  I  then  felt  as  if  my  entrails 
had  been  burnt  out  with  a  hot  iron, 
as  if  the  earth  had  been  razed  to  the 
ground,  as  if  I  had  been  left  alone  in 
the  world  to  suffer  the  curse.  And  I 
became  incensed  with  Jehovah,  and  I 
cried:  'Cursed  be  Thy  name!  Why  didst 
Thou  take  unto  Thyself  the  woman  I 
had  chosen  for  myself!  Art  Thou  cursed 
with  stupidity  that  Thou  crushest  Thy 
child  and  sparest  Thy  enemy!  Canst 
Thou  not  take  unto  Thyself  the  rich 
man's  lamb!  Must  Thou  deprive  the 
poor   man    of    his    all!    Cursed    be   Thy 


136  Rabbi  Esra 

name!  Doest  Thou  want  to  thrust  me 
in  the  way  of  temptation,  and  cast  me 
out  into  sin;  doest  Thou  want  me  to 
go  among  the  godless  again,  after  I 
have  with  care  and  pain  hidden  my 
soul  from  Thy  anger?  Cursed  be  Thy 
name!  Cursed  be  Thy  name!  On  Thy 
head  my  curse!' 

"And  then,  in  order  to  find  solace, 
1  went  to  the  sisters  of  sorrow.  Yes 
Moses,  I  went  to  the  sisters  of  sorrow. 
I  am  not  telling  you,  Moses,  to  visit 
the  sisters  of  sorrows.  You  can  do  as 
you  please.  But  I,  your  father  Esra, 
went  to  the  sisters  of  sorrow.  And  as 
I  went  I  cursed  Jehovah.  I  cried  to 
Him:  'It  is  Thy  fault  that  I  am  going 
to  find  solace  among  the  sisters  of 
sorrow.  Why  didst  Thou  take  my 
Leah  from  me!' 

"And  now,  Moses,  open  your  ears 
wide  so  that  you  will  understand  me. 
I  tasted  of  the  pleasures  of  Gentile 
maids,  of  Jewish  maids,  of  the  daughters 
oflHam.  I  did  not  choose  those  who 
appealed   to   my   heart,   but  those  who 


Rabbi  Esra  137 

appealed  to  my  senses,  for  I  wanted  to 
forget  my  sorrow,  for  I  wanted  to  for- 
get my  Leah.  And  I  chose  those  who 
were  like  the  cedars  on  Lebanon.  And 
I  found  that  the  more  a  girl  appealed 
to  my  senses  the  easier  it  was  for  me 
to  hold  converse  with  her,  and  the 
easier  it  was  for  her  to  hold  converse 
with  me;  and  the  more  she  appealed 
to  my  senses  the  friendlier  she  was, 
and  the  more  she  appeased  my  aching 
heart.  And  I  found,  Moses,  that  the 
more  she  appealed  to  my  senses  the 
easier  it  was  for  me  to  endure  my  sin; 
and  I  found  myself  closer  to  the  Al- 
mighty. And  if  you  were  to  offer  me 
a  half  a  million,  Moses,  I  would  not 
exchange  it  for  that  knowledge;  for 
that  knowledge  bears  interest  at  twenty 
per  cent,  at  thirty  per  cent,  at  one 
hundred  per  cent;  and  the  interest  is 
children  and  children's  children.  One 
can  be  unhappy  with  a  half  a  million, 
but  one  cannot  be  unhappy  with  the 
knowledge  that  the  love  of  the  iBesh 
is  not  like  serving  the  devil  when  man 


138  Rabbi  Esra 

goes  the  path  marked  out  for  him  by 
the  Lord  who  created  two  people  for 
each  other  who  are  aUke  physically 
and  spiritually. 

'*And  I  beat  my  breast  and  cried: 
'Lord,  I  have  heard  Thy  secret  counsel. 
Thou  confusest  the  wiseman  in  his 
cunning,  and  makest  him  to  walk  and 
grope  about  at  midday  as  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night ! '  And  then  I  went 
and  searched  for  a  wife  with  the  use 
of  all  my  senses;  and  I  found  Sarah, 
beautiful  as  the  newborn  earth,  and 
she  became  your  mother.  I  tested  her 
heart,  and  I  found  that  her  heart  was 
the  brother  of  my  heart.  And  on  our 
wedding  night,  Moses,  the  night  to 
which  you  thank  your  existence,  I 
found  that  her  bodv  was  the  mate  of 
my  body;  and  I  praised  the  Lord, 
Whose  spirit  does  not  lie.  Whose  truth 
is   visible   in   His   work." 

Rabbi  Esra  wiped  his  brow  and 
breathed  deeply.  Moses,  his  head  low- 
ered, crept  away. 


19 


This  volume  preserved 
with  funding  from  the 
National  Endowment  for 
the  Humanitj -hi,  1990. 


<^03n?Mc^7t, 


